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6, 


TUFTS   UNIVERSITY   LIBRARIES 


3  9090  014  554  527 


Webster  Family  Library  of  Veterinary  Medicine 

Cummings  School  of  Veterinary  Medicine  at 

Tufts  University 

200  Westboro  Road 

North  Grafton,  MA  01536 


MR.    MEYNELL  S    HOUNDS    CROSSING    THE    SOAR, 
February  24th,  1800. 


Mr.    Musters.  jack    Raven. 

Lord    George    Germaine.  Mr.    Loraine    Smith. 

Photogriij[>Jied,  by  feriuissiov  0/  Mr.  Rollestoii,  from  an  old  priut. 


BOOK 


HUNTING   SONGS 


SPORT 


COLLECTED  BY 


MRS.     CHAWORTH     MUSTERS, 


AND    DEDICATED    TO 


THE    RIGHT  HON.   EARL    FERRERS, 


iS8=5. 


NOTTINGHAM  : 
PRINTED   BY  R.    ALLEN  AND  SON,   LIMITED,   CAXTON   HOUSE. 


RIGHT    HON.    EA.RL    FERRERS,    M.F.H., 

In  Remembraxce  of 

A    FRIENDSHIP   OF   MANY   YEARS, 

AND   OF 

"  The  Mirth,  and  the  Adventure,  and  the  Sport 
that  we  have  shared." 


CONTENTS. 


A  Hunting  Song 

January  13th,  1874 

"  Sende  hym  along  "    .. 

Quorn  Hounds,  1867 

Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Honest  Ball 

The  Forsten  Hunt 

Letter 

The  19th  January,  1793 

The  22nd  March,  1793 

Wednesday,  February  9th,  1881 

Reminiscences  of  the  Shows  of  Foxhounds  at  Osbert  jn,  abuu 

The  Hur worth  Fox  Chase  .. 

The  Bedale  Hounds  in  183S 

The  Prophet  in  his  own  Country  ;  or,  Dufty  in  Derbyshire  . 

An  exact  Account  of  the  Fox  Chase  on  ye  znd  of  December, 

A  Run  with  the  "  West  of  Fife  " 

Lord  Gardner 

Hazleford  Ferry  .. 

The  Eufford  Hounds    . . 

The  Glory  of  Motion 

"  Formosissimus  Annus "  ••  .. 

How  we  beat  the  Favourite 

Notes  from  Will  Stansby's  Diary  at  Badminton,  1843  . . 

A  Legend  of  Galway 

The  Lover's  Leap 

The  Charlton  Hunt 

Hunting  Song  for  the  year  1824    . . 

A  Run  with  the  S.  O. 

The  Old  Hound 

The  days  when  I  rode  with  the  Quorn 


t  1825 


745 


A  Fragment 

Thoughts  on  Hunting 

The  Hill's  Wood  Run  with  the  Berkeley  Hounds 

On  the  Death  of  the  Fox  at  Gopsall,  1868 

The  Stable  Boy 

"My  Old  Horn" 

"  Rouse,  boys,  rouse  " 

On  the  Death  of  Capt.  Berkeley's  Horse 

The  Foremost  Flight 

Patrick's  Bear  Slaying  :  a  Parody 

In  Memoriam 

A  Day  with  the  Queen's  Hounds 

Hunting  in  Durham     .. 

The  Lambton  Hounds 

A  few  good  Runs  with  Frank  Gillard,  1871  to  1878 

A  Season's  Sport  with  the  Quorn 

The  Gallant  Little  Grey 

Col.  Thomson's  best  Run  with  the  Atherstone,  1849 

The  Charndon  Run  with  the  Bicester 

The  Waterloo  Run  with  the  Pytchley,  Feb.  2nd,  1866 

The  Lundin  Run  with  the  Fife  Hounds,  November  30th,  1877 

Hunting  Song  of  Mr.  Meynell's  time,  about  1790 

A  Legend  of  the  Quorn  Countrie 

Hunting  Song  of  Sir  Harry  Goodricke's  time 

Billesdon  Coplow,  Feb.  24th,  1800 

Memoir  of  the  Mastership  of  the  Fifth  Duke  of  Buccleuch   . . 

In  Memoriam:  George  Whyte-Melville 

Extract  from  "  Baily,"  1871 

To  Nicolas 

My  Old  Horn       .. 

A  List  of  Masters  of  the  Quorn     . , 

Run  with  Lord  Ferrers*  Hounds 

Run  with  the  Duke  of  Rutland's  Hounds      .. 

Run  with  Mr.  Jarvis's  Hounds 

Run  with  Lord  Galway's  Hounds 

Letter  from  Mr.  Raynes,  of  Bawtry      .» 

Run  with  the  South  Notts.  Hounds  •• 


TAGE 
79 

79 
8S 
87 
89 
90 
91 
93 
96 

99 

lOI 

104 
107 
108 
no 

117 

131 
132 
133 

138 

1 48 

150 
157 

160 

'63 
172 
174 

^7S 

183 
184 
186 
194 
196 
199 

ZOI 
202 
ZO4 


"  We  were  much  pleased  lately  with  the  snuggery  of  a 
great  ex-huntsman,  where  we  turned  in  for  a  couple  of 
hours  to  chat  of  old  times.  Among  the  prints  was  a 
very  characteristic  one  of  old  Meynell,  sitting  in  his 
study-chair  and  pigtail,  and  giving  orders  to  Jack  Eaven, 
who  stands  with  a  comfortable  little  corporation  at  the 
door.  Jack  appears  in  the  well-known  Billesdon 
picture  on  Loadstone,  opening  the  gate  with  his  whip  ; 
but  the  old  horse  wants  no  more,  and  resolutely  puts 
his  foot  in  the  gate,  while  Mr.  Lorraine  Smith  is  wading 
with  his  coat,  like  an  old  woman's  petticoats,  in  his 
hand.  The  drawing  is  bad,  but  the  song  which  illus- 
trates it  is  so  scarce,  and  those  few  who  possess  it  seem 
to  have  it  only  in  MS.,  that  we  reprint  it  here,  simply 
premising  that  there  are  one  or  two  names  of  which 
there  may  be  a  different  reading." 


A   HUNTING   SONG. 

Tune — "  Deert  Down." 

Was  there  ever  such  work  ?  as  our  leaders  oft  say 
Was  there  ever  yet  seen  such  a  glorious  day  ? 
Not  Meynell  himself,  the  king  of  all  men, 
Ever  saw  such  a  chase,  or  will  see  such  again. 

Derrv  Down. 


Billesdon  Coplow  's  the  place  where  the  contest  began, 
And  away  from  the  covert  bold  Eeynard  soon  ran : 
Two  hours  and  a  quarter,  1  think,  was  the  time — 
It  was  beautifully  great,  nay  indeed  'twas  sublime. 

Derry  Down. 

At  Skeffington  earths  the  villain  did  try, 
Then,  making  all  speed,  to  Tilton  Wood  did  he  fly : 
By  Skeffington  Town  he  soon  after  came  back, 
And  at  Tugby  was  near  being  caught  by  the  pack. 

Derry  Down. 

Then  passing  by  Stretton  to  Wigstone  he  went. 
And  at  Ailstone  we  thought  that  the  rogue  must  be  spent ; 
But  for  crossing  the  river  he  found  a  good  place, 
And,  changing  at  Enderby,  finished  the  chase. 

Derry  Down. 

Scotch,  Welsh,  Irish,  and  English,  together  set  out, 
A  nd  each  thought  his  horse  than  his  neighbour's  more  stout. 
You  must  judge  by  the  nags  which  were  in  at  the  end 
Which  riders  to  judge  and  which  to  commend. 

Derry  Down. 

Lorraine  and  Lord  Maynard  were  there,  and  could  tell 
Who  in  justice's  scale  held  the  balance  so  well, 
As  very  good  judges  and  justices  too. 
The  state  of  each  horse,  and  what  each  man  could  do. 

Derry  Down. 

But  if  anyone  thinks  he  is  grieved  in  the  song, 
And  fancies  his  case  stated  legally  wrong, 
To  Enderby  Hall  let  him  go  and  complain. 
But  he  won't  mend  his  cause  if  he  meets  with  Lorraine. 

Derry  Down. 


Germaine,  the  most  gallant,  was  first  at  tlie  river ; 
Like  a  spaniel  dashed  in — how  he  made  our  hearts  quiver ! 
And  as  Albion,  as  bold,  he  gave  M  ellon  a  pull, 
And  beat  thro'  the  stream  like  Europa's  famed  bull. 

Derry  Down. 

Jack  Musters,  delighted  at  this  bright  example, 
Close  on  the  dun's  heels  in  the  water  did  trample. 
He  held  by  the  tail,  and  got  safe  to  the  bank, 
Though  the  water  ran  over  the  grey  horse's  flank. 

Derry  Down. 

Cox  stood  on  the  brink,  and  would  fain  have  gone  arter, 
But  the  hydrophobia  made  him  turn  at  the  water; 
So  he  scrambled  away  as  fast  as  he  could, 
And  got  up  with  the  hounds  at  Enderby  Wood. 

Derry  Down. 

"We  have  not  much  to  say  of  Morpath  and  Shelley, 
They  at  Skeffington  stopped,  I  suppose,  for  a  jelly. 
It  is  true  they  ride  hard,  and  are  said  to  be  keen, 
But  yet  in  this  run  they  never  were  seen. 

Derry  Down. 

"What  came  of  Bob  Grosvenor  no  poet  can  tell ; 
Not  long  with  the  pack  did  the  gay  bishop  dwell ; 
He  met  brother  South,  and  'twas  said  by  the  people, 
That  the  parsons  were  perched  up  on  Skefiington  steeple. 

Derry  Down. 

There  they  sat  quite  contented,  like  parson  and  clerk, 
And  talked  over  things  until  very  near  dark. 
Till  the  bishop  began  to  take  fright  at  the  weather. 
And  their  nags  being  fresh  they  reached  Melton  together. 

Derry  Down. 


As  'twas  late  in  the  day  the  gallant  Lord  Craven, 
rinding  matters  grow  serious,  kept  his  eye  on  Jack  Eaven 
But  the  old  Eaven  croaked  when  his  horse  was  near  done. 
So  he  changed  with  Ben  Rowland  and  finished  the  run. 

Derry  Down. 

In  this  state  of  distress  my  Lord  Maddock  saw, 
Who  just  in  his  nag  had  discovered  a  flaw ; 
Together  they  joined,  and  took  leave  of  the  pack  ; 
Maddock  trudged  home,  but  the  peer  got  a  hack. 

Lerry  Down. 

Of  Bobby  Montgomery,  Messrs.  Waddle  and  Cuft', 
As  they  say  they  can  ride,  I  would  fain  say  enough  : 
Their  riding  displayed  a  spread  eagle  complete, 
And  to  those  who  were  near  must  have  proved  a  great 
treat.  Derry  Down. 

Charles  Meynell  got  in,  but  how  he  got  there 
No  sportsman  could  tell,  for  he  made  them  all  stare. 
We  heard  that  the  waggon  had  just  passed  the  road — 
Why  did  not  the  waggoner  stop  with  his  load  ? 

Derry  Down. 

Of  Joey  Pantigious,  'tis  said  in  a  burst 
He  finds  it  quite  easy  being  second  or  first. 
We'd  a  chase  on  the  pike,  and  he  drove  in  his  gig ; 
I  then  bet  two  to  one  on  the  little  Pound  Pij?. 

Derry  Down. 

Of  a  mighty  great  king,  how  it  lowered  his  pride 
To  be  walking  on  foot  when  his  subjects  did  ride ; 
Though  they  passed  by  in  numbers  to  no  one  he  spoke. 
But  like  Charley  the  Second  got  up  in  the  oak. 

Derry  Down. 


Tho'  late  in  the  song,  yet  perish  the  thought 
That  our  gallant  friend  Villiers  should  e'er  be  forgot ; 
Some  disaster,  I  fancy,  his  lordship  befell, 
As  he  did  not  get  in,  tho'  he  rides  very  well. 

J)erry  Down. 

Lord  Charles  rode  on  Marquis,  so  famed  for  his  blood. 
And  shared  in  all  dangers  except  in  the  flood. 
Charles  Ellis  came  up,  but  he  got  a  fresh  horse. 
And  we  saw  by  the  change  that  he  was  not  the  worse. 

Derry  Down. 

By  the  bye,  I  forgot  to  name  Lawley  of  Quorn, 
Tho'  forward  at  first  lamed  his  horse  with  a  thorn ; 
And  losing  a  shoe  is  sometimes  the  reason 
"Why  a  gentleman's  beat  at  the  end  of  the  season. 

Derry  Down. 

Tom  Smith  in  the  contest  maintained  a  good  place. 
And  tho'  not  first,  at  last  made  a  famous  good  race. 
I'm  sure  he'd  no  cause  for  his  horse  to  abuse. 
And  I  wish  he'd  persuade  him  to  keep  on  his  shoes. 

Derry  Down. 

Mr.  Saville  and  Nat  dropped  in  at  the  end — 
Which  the  best  of  the  nags  I  cannot  contend ; 
For  tho'  they  breathe  high  they  are  still  full  of  fire. 
For  he  says  they're  so  stout  that  they  never  do  tire. 

Derry  Down. 

I  think  now  I've  bored  you  enough  wdth  the  chase. 
And  like  Meynell's  hounds  I  have  run  a  good  race ; 
Then  a  bumper,  my  boys,  to  Meynell  we'll  fill. 
And  to  those  that  ride  hard  may  they  never  stand  still. 

Derry  Down. 

Written  by  Me.  Bethell  Cox,  from  the 
Sporting  Magazine^  1856. 
For  notes  to  most  of  the  heroes  of  this 'po em,  see  ^'BiUesdon  Coplow.''^ 


JaNIJAET   loTH,    1874. 

The  old  Hurworth  foxhounds  met  at  Croft  Bridge 
this  morning,  under  the  mastership  of  Lord  Castlereagh, 
who  was  prevented  being  present  in  consequence  of  a 
death  in  the  family. 

Drew  the  Willow  Garths  and  the  Skerne  Banks  up 
to  Blackwell  Hall,  when  a  beautiful  chesnut  coloured 
fox  broke  away  from  under  the  old  hollies  and  laurels 
in  front  of  the  hall.  The  fox  then  crossed  the  Great 
North  Eoad,  near  what  used  to  be  the  Angel  Inn,  and 
continued  along  the  banks  of  the  river  Skerne  till  he 
came  opposite  Black  Banks  earths,  when  he  crossed 
over,  the  horsemen  having  to  go  round  to  a  bridge 
near  Croft.  He  then  ran  past  Kound  Hill  and  Hur- 
worth Moor  Farms,  leaving  Fighting  Cocks  covert  to 
the  right,  crossing  the  Darlington  and  Stoclvton  railway, 
near  an  old  dram,  in  which  many  a  good  fox  has  taken 
refuge  in  former  runs.  And  here  George  Dodds,  the 
huntsman,  showed  the  greatest  energy  in  getting  the 
hounds  stopped,  in  consequence  of  a  long  mineral  train 
running  up  the  line,  the  driver  taking  no  notice  of 
signs  to  slacken.  However,  no  harm  was  done,  and  the 
hounds  picked  the  scent  up  quickly  on  the  other  side  of 
the  railway,  and  away  to  Little  Burdon,  where  he  was 
viewed  in  a  field  adjoining  the  earths.  On  he  went  to 
Great  Burdon,  crossed  the  Skerne  to  Wimbush,  leaving 
Barmpton  to  the  right ;  he  then  re-crossed  the  Skerne, 
and,  after  running  along  the  banks,  crossed  it  again 
near  Little  Ketton,  where  he  was  viewed  again  on  the 
Barmpton  side  into  a  small  plantation,  some  of  the  field 
having  to  go  round  to  a  bridge  near  Ketton  Hall,  others 
having  got  over  the  Skerne  at  Barmpton.  However, we  all 
got  together  again  near  Newton  Ketton.  Hounds  at 
check,  in  consequence  of  coming  across  some  greyhounds 


coursing  here.  They  picked  the  scent  up  again,  and  on 
to  Great  Stainton  with  a  rattle,  turned  towards  Stelling- 
ton,  then  to  the  left  to  Elstob  Hall,  and  crossed  the 
Hartlepool  railway  to  Bog  Hall ;  he  then  took  a  road 
for  about  a  mile  to  Morden  Moor,  crossed  in  front  of 
Sands  Hall,  and  on  to  Sedgefield  station,  where  he 
crossed  the  railway,  ran  for  two  or  three  fields  and  re- 
crossed  the  railway  back  to  Morden,  and  then  to  Bog 
Hall  covert ;  never  went  in,  but  turned  again  to  the 
north,  and  after  viewing  him  for  a  few  minutes  the 
hounds  ran  into  him  at  Brechon  Hill  farm.  Time, 
3  hours  and  5  minutes.  From  point  to  point,  12  miles  ; 
as  the  fox  ran,  about  22.  There  were  five  checks,  the 
longest  near  Newton  Ketton,  and  another  when  he 
turned  from  Stellington  towards  Elstob,  where  there  is 
a  fox  earth,  but  he  never  went  near  it.  In  at  the  finish 
were  a  friend  of  Lord  Castlereagh's  on  a  chesnut  horse, 
W.  O.  Elliot,  M.P.,  T.  Wilkinson,  E.  L.  Ward,  C. 
Backhouse,  A.  Park,  J.  W.  Smith,  J.  Brown,  George 
Dodds  the  huntsman,  a  whip,  and  a  servant. 

Written  by  Eev.  J.  "W.  Smith, 

Rector  of  Dinsdale. 


"SENDE    HYM    ALONG; 

OR, 

Ye  counsatle  of  olde  Eobert  to  Matstee  Henrie, 

TE    SONNE  TO    SqUYER   NyMEOOD." 

"  Come,  tell  me,  old  Eobert — you  can  if  you  will — 
How  to  go  to  the  fore  with  the  best  of  the  throng ; 

I  can  sit  on  Bay  Jerry,  don't  care  for  a  spill. 

And  I  just  want  to  know  how  to  send  him  along. 


"  Aye,  aye,  Mayster  Harrie,  I'll  tell  you  with  glee — 

For  I'm  right  glad  to  see  to  th'  old  stock  you  belong ; 
So  now  for  a  moment  just  listen  to  me. 
And  you  sha'nt  be  the  last  as  you  send  him  along. 

"  Be  in  time — then  drop  down  to  the  covert's  lee  side  ; 

Throw  away  your  cigar,  leave  the  jest  and  the  song ; 
Creep  in  and  keep  quiet  in  some  likely  ride ; 

Sit  still — but  be  ready  to  send  him  along. 

"  Watch  closely  the  hounds  as  they  carefully  draw — 
Mark  the  note  of  the  true  one  that  now  throws  his 
tongue ; 

Ears  attend  for  the  holloa — '  away,  gone  away  ! ' — 
Then  down  like  a  lightning  flash  send  him  along. 

"  He's  away,  he's  away,  and  you're  well  away,  too  ; 

You've  got  a  good  start,  and  there's  nothing  gone  wrong ; 
The  pack's  all  before  you,  all  mad  for  a  view — 

Up,  up  in  your  stirrups,  and  send  him  along. 

"  You're  well  over  some  big  'uns,  and  in  the  first  flight ; 

Never  heed  those  that  follow,  pell  mell  and  ding  dong ; 
Never  look  to  the  left,  never  look  to  the  right, 

But  keep  your  eyes  for'ard  and  send  him  along. 

'*  The  country  gets  closer,  the  brooks  deep  and  wide, 
And  some  timber  it  looks  most  uncomfortably  strong ; 

But  the  low  viewing  nag  will  take  each  in  his  stride 
As  you  sit  down  upon  him  and  send  him  along. 

"  Near  an  hour  you've  been  at  him,  the  pace  'gins  to  tell, 
And  tails  they  are  shaking  like  tails  in  Hong  Kong ; 

So  look  to  your  hand,  and  your  head,  too,  as  well, 
As  you  sit  close  and  nurse  him,  yet  send  him  along. 


•'  He's  now  sinking  fast — they  are  close  at  his  brush — 
'  Whoo-oop  ! '  they  have  got  him ;   one  crack  from  your 
^  thong, 

Then  jump  off — get  away  from  the  wrangling  rush, 

And  thank  Eobert,  who  taught  you  to  send  him  along." 

Written  by  the  late  Ret.  H.  0.  Coxe, 

Librarian  of  the  Bodleian. 


QUOEN    HOUNDS,    1867. 

Tune — "  Who  can  tell," 

When  \^ill  the  *Marquis  come ?  Who  can  tell ? 

Half-past  twelve  or  half-past  one  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

Is  he  sober,  is  he  drunk  ?  Nipping  "like  Mjn  heer  von 

Dunk? 
Will  he  ride  or  will  he  funk  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

Shall  we  have  to  wait  again  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
In  the  wind  and  in  the  rain  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
While  the  Marquis,  snug  and  warm,  in  the  hall  where 

toadies  swarm, 
Leaves  us  to  the  pelting  storm  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 

Where'll  he  draw  by  way  of  luck  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
Gartree  hill,  or  Bradgate  Park  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
Sport  regarding  as  a  jest,  which  will  suit  his  fancy  best — 
North  or  south,  or  east  or  west?  Who  can  tell? 


Harry,  last  Marquis  of  Hastings,  died  iS 


10 


Where,  oh  where,  rings  G-oodaH'sf  horn  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
Whj  came  I  with  this  cursed  Quorn  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
Marquis,  this  is  not  a  race ;  Can  you  look  us  in  the  face, 
And  declare  you  love  the  chase  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OE  HONEST  BALL. 

Scene — The  Close  next  the  Eoad  at  Aston. 

'Twas  on  a  verdant  pasture's  side, 
Thro'  which  the  tinkling  riv'lets  glide, 

And  sportful  lambkins  play ; 
Where  ever  steady  faithful  Ball, 
Obedient  to  his  master's  call, 

His  time  had  grazed  away. 

When  lo !  a  huntsman's  voice  was  heard. 
His  head  old  Ball  in  transport  reared, 

He  hailed  each  choral  hound  ; 
The  conscious  snort  his  pride  declared, 
In  ev'ry  neigh  his  joy  appeared — 

He  spurned  the  trembling  ground. 

Of  fond  ideas  what  a  train, 

Of  blissful  pleasures  \vhat  a  chain, 

Then  sprung  into  his  heart ! 
All  rapture  will  abound,  says  he, 
To  my  good  master  and  to  me, 

That  hunting  can  impart. 

t  Mr.  Tailby's  huntsman. 


11 


He  mused,  and  musing  called  to  mind 
Each  end- way  chase  with  stag  and  hind,* 

And  eke  with  wily  fox. 
Eeflection  echoed  back  the  tale  f 
Of  every  hill  and  every  dale, 

01  woods,  and  crags,  and  rocks. 

Still  had  he  mus'd,  but  cross  his  thought, 
"With  worth  intrinsically  wrought, 

Stept  forth  a  Mundy's  name  ! 
Till  now  Ball  never  knew  the  laws, 
Nor  the  criterion,  nor  the  cause 

Of  modern  hunter's  fame. 


He  starts,  displeas'd  with  bootless  lore, 
AVhich  Burdett  us'd  in  days  of  yore. 

Displeasure  makes  him  rave  ! 
Ye  gods,  says  he,  what  time  I've  spent. 
And  never  knew  what  hunting  meant 

Till  one  foot's  in  the  grave ! 

Again  he  cools ;  the  gods  implores, 
That  e'er  he  reach  the  Stygian  shores 

One  good  day's  sport  be  given. 
He  vows  a  day  to  Ticknall  gorse 
Will  make  him  happier  than  the  horse 

Which  Mah'mett  rode  to  heaven. 


*  Alluding  to  divers  chases,  in  which  Ball  attended  Mr.  Shutlleworth's 
deer  hounds. 

•t  Alluding  to  a  famous  chase  with  Sir  Robert's  old  foxhounds  from 
Gorsty  Leas  quite  away  to  Anchor-Church  Rocks. 


12 


He  spoke,  when,  bursting  from  a  cloud, 
A  phantom  in  a  silver  shroud 

Forewarned  him  of  his  end. 
It  cried  out,  '  Ball,  thou'rt  quite  undone, 
And,  as  thy  loving  master's  gone, 

A  fav'rite  has  no  friend.' 


Ah !  presage  sad,  'twas  but  too  true — 
For  see,  the  ruthless  Jack's  in  view — 

Behold  his  bloody  knife  ! 
The  fatal  sisters  gave  the  word, 
Which  Jack  observ'd  with  fell  accord, 

And  clos'd  the  Book  of  Life. 


Ungrateful  man !  is  this  the  need 
That's  due  to  each  old  gen'rous  steed 

For  ev'ry  kind  relief? 
Was  it  for  this  that  heaven  gave 
Each  brute  to  thee  to  be  thy  slave 

When  thou'rt  of  brutes  the  chief.t 


+  I  owe  this  curious  old  poem  to  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Rolleston,  of 
Watnall.  who  found  it  among  some  family  papers.  The  individuals  mentioned 
in  it  I  take  to  have  been  Sir  Robf.rt  Burdett,  of  Foremark,  who  died  in 
1797  ;  Francis  Noel  Clarke  Mundt,  Esq.,  of  Markeaton,  who  married  Sir 
Robert's  daughter,  Elizabeth,  and  kept  a  pack  of  hounds  in  Derbyshire  within 
the  memory  of  persons  still  living;  and  James  Shuttlhworth,  EsQ.,of  Gaw- 
thorp,  M.P.,  who  married  Mary,  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  Robert  Holden, 
Esq.,  of  Aston,  the  scene  of  the  song.  I  should  imagine  "honest  Ball"  to  have 
been  the  property  of  the  Rev.  John  Rolleston,  who  was  for  forty  years  Rector  of 
Aston,  and  married  Dorothy,  the  youngest  daughter  of  Sir  Robert  Burdett, 
and  died  1770. 


13 


THE  FOESTEN  HUNT. 

Ax  IMITATION  OE  PAEODT  OF  AN  IeISH  HUNTING  SoNG, 
ADAPTED  AT  EoESTEN,  IN  THE  YEAE  1761. 

Hark,  hark,  jolly  sportsmen,  awhile  to  my  tale, 
To  pay  your  attention  I'm  sure  you  can't  fail ; 
'Tis  of  dogs,  and  of  horses,  and  lads  who  ne'er  tire 
O'er  downs  or  o'er  heaths,  thro'  furze,  brakes,  or  mire. 
A  pack  of  such  hounds,  and  a  set  of  such  men, 
'Tis  shrewd  chance  if  ever  you  hear  of  again. 
Had  Nimrod,  that  mightiest  of  hunters,  been  there, 
Egad !  he'd  have  shook  like  an  aspen  for  fear. 

In  seventeen  hundred  and  sixty  one, 

The  month  of  December  was  scarcely  begun ; 

At  eight  in  the  morning  by  most  of  the  clocks 

We  set  out  from  Eorsten  in  search  of  a  fox. 

Jack  Trenchard  and  Simnes,  that  parson  in  grey. 

And  Furber,  the  farmer,  were  with  us  that  day, 

^  Jack  Fane  and  tNed  Phelips,  those  hunters  so  stout, 

Blair,  Jones,  and  Tom  Meggs,  and  so  we  set  out. 

We  cast  off  our  hounds  for  an  hour  or  more, 

When  Piper  set  up  a  most  tuneable  roar. 

"  Hark  to  Piper,"  cries  Scott ;  the  rest  were  not  slack. 

For  Piper's  no  babbler  esteemed  by  the  pack. 

Old  Miller  and  Polly  came  merrily  in. 

And  all  the  hounds  joined  in  the  musical  din ; 

Had  Diana  been  there  she'd  been  pleased  to  the  life, 

And  one  of  the  lads  got  a  goddess  for  wife. 


•  Jack  Fane,  afterwards  gth  Earl  of  Westmoreland, 
t  Ned  Phelips. — Edward  Phelips,  Esq.,  of  Montacute. 


u 


Ten  minutes  past  ten  was  the  time  of  the  day 
When  Reynard  unkennelled,  and  this  was  the  way : 
From  G-range  to  Mount  Silver  and  Clenger  he  past, 
Thro'  Hawkham  and  Hackham  to  Kingrose  at  last ; 
O'er  the  hill  to  Fair  Mile  and  Puddle's  smooth  down — 
In  Wootton's  strong  brake  the  caytiff  did  run ; 
The  turnpike  he  crossed,  leapt  Lord  Ilehester's  wall, 
And  seemed  to  say,  "  Little  I  value  you  all." 

Then  close  by  Will  Pitt's  to  Gallam  he  runs, 

Blair,  Jones,  and  Tom  Meggs  kept  leading  by  turns  ; 

The  earths  were  all  open,  yet  he  was  so  stout, 

Tho'  he  might  have  got  in,  yet  he  chose  to  keep  out. 

To  Elsington  wood  like  a  bullet  he  flew — 

At  Tinkleton  parish  we  had  him  in  view  ; 

To  Frampton's  bog  next,  o'er  heaths  wild  and  dreary. 

Where  Meggs  and  the  parson  and  Trenchard  grew  weary. 

Then  away  to  the  cliffs  like  an  arrow  he  past, 
And  came  near  the  Castle  of  Lulworth  at  last, 
Where  he  valiantly  plunged  himself  into  the  sea, 
And  said  in  his  heart,  "  Who  dares  follow  me?" 
But  soon  to  his  cost  he  perceived  that  no  bounds 
Could  stop  the  pursuit  of  the  staunch  mettled  hounds. 
His  policy  here  did  not  serve  him  a  rush — 
Five  couple  of  tartars  were  close  at  his  brush. 

To  recover  the  shore  again  was  his  drift. 

But,  e'er  he  could  get  to  the  top  of  the  clift, 

He  found  both  of  strength  and  of  cunning  a  lack — 

Killed,  worried,  and  torn  by  the  rest  of  the  pack. 

At  his  death  there  were  present  the  lads  whom  I've  sung. 

Save  poor  Jacky  Trenchard,  whom  Badger  had  flung, 

And  thus  we  concluded  this  delicate  chase, 

Which  lasted  three  hours  and  ten  minutes'  space. 


15 


At  eve  we  returned  home  to  Forsten  again. 
Where  dwells  hospitality,  truth,  and  Jack  Fane. 
We  talked  o'er  the  chase,  and  we  toasted  the  health 
Of  the  man  who  ne'er  varies  for  places  or  wealth. 
"  Charles  Blair*  baulked  a  leap,"  says  Phelips ;   "  'twas 

odd;" 
"  'Twas  shameful,"  cried  Jones,  "  by  the  great  living  God." 
Says  Meggs,  "I  halJooed,  get  on,  tho'  you  fall. 
Or  I'll  leap  over  you,  your  blind  stone  horse  and  all." 

To  the  drawing  room  next,  for  Augusta,!  the  fair, 

And  VVoodford,  the  merriest  of  damsels,  were  there  ; 

Ned  Phelips'  sister,  Maria,  his  wife, 

And  the  girl  Ben  Simnes  had  just  taken  for  life. 

No  scandal  or  folly  their  converse  dispense. 

But  wit  with  good  humour,  and  mirth  with  good  sense. 

As  Pallas  and  Dian  the  hunters  befriend, 

The  muses  and  graces  these  ladies  attend. 

Our  evening,  devoted  to  freedom  and  sport, 
All  party  affairs  we  consigned  to  the  court. 
The  ladies,  the  fairest  Britannia  can  boast. 
Were  each  in  their  turn  proclaimed  as  a  toast ; 
And  thus  we  concluded  the  day  and  the  night 
Jn  jollity,  sport,  and  in  social  delight. 
And  as  Phoebus  befriended  our  earlier  roam, 
80  Luna  took  care  to  conduct  us  safe  home,  t 


•Charles  Blair  afterwards  married  Lady  Mary  Fane,  and,  with  "Jones," 
was  guardian  to  John,  loth  Earl  of  Westmoreland. 

t  Mrs.  John  Fane,  daughter  of  Lord  Albemarle  Bertie. 

tForsten,  "where  dwelt  hospitality,  truth,  and  Jack  Fane,"  is  three 
miles  north  of  Dorchester.  From  Grange  Wood,  where  they  "unkennelled" 
their  fox,  to  Lulworth  Shore,  where  they  killed  him,  is  twenty  and  a  half  miles, 
as  the  crow  flies. 


16 


DeAE  MeS.  MuSTEIiS, 

I  am  no  hand  at  writing  a  run,  but  can  give  you 
the  following  particulars  of  the  one  you  mention.  The 
date  was  Monday,  January  28th,  1878.  The  Blankney 
hounds  met  at  the  7th  milestone,  Newark  road.  We 
found  directly  in  Tunman's  Wood,  and  came  away  over 
the  Newark  and  Lincoln  road,  ran  past  Haddington  to 
Hykeham  plantation,  which  we  left  a  field  to  the  left, 
and  on  past  South  Hykeham,  over  the  line  close  to  Wad- 
dington  station,  and  up  the  hill  into  Waddington 
village.  Here  all  the  rest  of  the  field  got  some  wrong 
information,  and  lost  the  hounds,  and  I  had  them  all  to 
myself  over  the  heath  past  Giles'  Grorse  to  Branston, 
where  we  had  a  check,  and  Harry  Dawkins,  the  hunts- 
man, and  the  first  whip,  who  had  ridden  by  my  tracks 
over  the  heath,  caught  me  up.  We  went  straight  on 
through  the  Park  at  Long  Hills,  past  the  end  of  Potter- 
hanworth  wood ;  but  our  fox  was  headed  a  field  ofi"  the 
wood,  and  turned  to  his  left  and  got  to  ground  in  a 
rabbit  hole  in  a  small  plantation,  called  Curtis',  about  a 
mile  further  on.  Only  Harry  Dawkins,  the  first  whip, 
and  myself,  were  with  the  hounds  when  they  stopt. 
Mr.  Cooke,  a.  farmer  from  Scarle,  came  up  afterwards, 
and  Ave  never  saw  anybody  else.  It  is  an  eleven  mile 
point,  and  was  all  down  wind,  and  was  the  straightest  run 
I  ever  saw ;  none  of  it  very  fast,  bub  a  good  holding 
pace.  The  fox  never  touched  a  covert  from  find  to 
finish. 

Edwaed  H.  Nevile. 


17 


The  19th  January,  1793. 

Mb.  Metnell's  hounds  met  at  Alsop's  house  (near 
Wymeswold),  and  found  in  the  old  cover;  went  away  by 
Mr.  Gooden's  cover  to  Hell  Hole,  over  part  of  Grotham 
Moor,  over  Leak  Hills  and  Field,  by  Wysall,  Keyworth, 
Kinoulton,  Hickling,  by  Nether  Broughton,  Holwell, 
Scalford,  to  Goadby  Park,  and  killed. 

The  hounds  ran  very  hard  for  two  hours  and  a  half, 
all  the  horses  being  tired  except  Mr.  Deverill's  grey 
mare,  Gaylass. 


The  22nd  of  Maech,  1793. 

Me.  Metnell's  hounds  met  at  Whitehorse  Wood. 
Found  in  .Bardon  Hill;  came  away  over  the  Eocks, 
Gracedieu  Park,  Oakley  "Wood,  Donington  Park,  and 
run  to  ground  at  Gorsty  Leas.  (This  is  a  ten  mile 
point,  and  most  unusual  line.) 

From  the  diary  o£  J.  Jones,  Mr.  Meynell's 
whipper-in. 


"Wednesday,  Febeuaey  9th,  1881. 

The  snow,  and  frost,  and  fog  were  gone, 
And  *'  cheerly  smiled  the  morn ;" 

And  many  a  sportsman's  heart  beat  high 
To  hear  the  well-known  horn. 


18 


To  the  Magna  Charta,  Lowdham, 
From  far  and  near  they  come ; 

Some  kindred  souls  from  Derbyshire — 
Across  the  river,  some. 

Then,  as  the  phalanx  moved  along 

The  road  to  Bleasby  Gorse, 
With  a  watchful  eye  I  scanned  them, 

Ev'ry  man  and  ev'ry  horse. 

Like  a  lovely  chequered  ribbon 

The  little  pack  advance ; 
Fresh  as  paint,  and  bright  as  satin, 

They  long  to  lead  the  dance. 

First  comes  Rolleston  (r)  upon  Eocket, 
With  a  thoughtful  huntsman's  air ; 

Taking  counsel  with  George  Shepherd,  (2) 
Neat  and  jaunty  as  his  mare. 

Next,  noblemen  in  scarlet  coats, 

A  nd  gentlemen  in  black, 
And  ladies  fair,  and  riders  rare, 

And  Lielly  (3)  on  a  hack. 

But  Bleasby  holds  no  customer — 
They  cheer  and  "  haicks  "  in  vain. 

While  we  sit  cooling  visibly, 
Predictino:  it  will  rain. 


1.  Lancelot  RoUeston,  Esq.,  master  and  huntsman  of  the  South  Notts, 
hounds  from  1876  to  1882. 

2.  George  (really  German)  Shepherd,  first  whip  and  kennel  huntsman 
to  Mr.  Musters,  Mr.  Rolleston,  and  Lord  Harrington  successively,  and 
deservedly  respected  by  all  in  the  South  Notts,  country. 

3.  John  Liell  Francklin,  Esq.,  of  Gonalston,  late  M.  F.  H. 


19 


Halloughton  "Wood — "  but  shall  we  find  here  ?" 

Some  say  doubtfully  and  low. 
Hark  !  that  piercing  scream  is  George's — 

Now  then,  Talent,  you  may  go. 

How  they  race  to  get  a  start — see, 

Straight  a^  the  fox  they  ride ! 
And  thrust  and  sputter  in  the  ploughs 

That  skirt  the  Dumble  side. 

Up  to  Bleasby,  out  towards  Morton, 
Then  round  through  Southwell  parks, 

"Where  o  er  a  gate  Lord  Petersham  (4) 
Had  one  of  his  old  larks. 

And  FDlingham,  (5)  that  crafty  man, 

Here  jumped  a  fence  with  glee ; 
And  Howett  (6)  still,  thro'  good  and  ill, 

Is  riding  wild  and  free. 

The  doughty  Daft  (7)  is  here  o'erthrown, 

Not  by  Australian  ball ; 
But  always  quick  on  greensward, 

Hurries  Peter  to  a  fall. 

The  master's  down  and  up  again, 

And  Rocket's  pulling  still ; 
And  Henry  Smith  (8)  is  close  behind. 

Sinking  the  Halam  Hill. 


4.  The  present  Earl  of  Harrington,  born  1844.    Now  hunting  the  South 
Notts,  country,  1883. 

5.  George  Fillingham,  Esq.,  of  Syerston,  a  well-known  and  thorough 
sportsman. 

6.  Mr.  Robert  Howett.  of  Woodborough,  a  great  promoter  of  hunting. 

7.  Mr.  Daft,  of  Radclifife,  the  celebrated  cricketer. 

8.  Henry  Smith,  Junr.,  of  the  Grove,    Cropwell  Butler,  a  keen   and 
hereditary  sportsman. 


20 


But  when  the  hounds  swing  left  again, 

And  past  the  Ash-Holts  race, 
And  circle  right  round  Halloughton  Wood, 

What  tells  at  last  is  pace. 

Tor  oh !  that  eager  morning  field, 

So  gallant  and  so  gay. 
Now  hounds  seem  running  for  their  fox, 

Behold  their  sad  array  : 

They  scarce  can  trot,  and  far  less  jump — 

The  prudent  now  go  home, 
Never  thinking  that  the  best  fun 

Is  only  yet  to  come. 

But  who  is  here  so  full  of  cheer — 

A  fresh  horse  full  of  ride  ? 
Squire  Sherbrooke,  (9)  who  has  nicked  them, 

Running  the  Dumble  side. 

Por  an  hour  and  forty  minutes 

They  have  hunted  through  the  plough — 
See,  the  fox  lies  down  before  them  ! 

They  surely  have  him  now. 

Not  a  bit ;  for  over  Halam, 

On  towards  Edingley  they  stream ; 

Onward,  onward  over  Hexgrave — 
'Tis  a  run  we  sometimes  dream. 

Now  they're  checking,  we  thank  goodness. 
As  we  reach  the  welcome  sand ; 

Gallant  Eolt  (lo)  has  had  a  crumpler; 
Oxton's  Squire  embraced  the  land. 


9.  Henry  Sherbrooke,  Esq.,  of  Oxton,  who  had  been  attending  the 
Rufiord  Hunt  meeting  at  Ollerton  ;  and  on  his  return,  coming  out  to  look  for 
the  hounds,  by  the  greatest  good  luck  fell  in  with  them  at  this  point. 

10.  Captain  Rolt,  a  writer  in  the  sporting  papers. 


91 


They've  hit  it  off  through  Inkersall, 

Culloden's  looming  near ; 
Sporting  Skelton,  (n)  thrusting  Meeson, 

Look  grave  when  they  get  here. 

Pittance  Park  they  now  are  skirting, 
Where  our  fox  finds  many  a  friend ; 

Like  the  Coplow  run  of  history, 
Without  a  kill  we  end. 

Two  of  Thoresby's  worthy  scions,  (12) 
Two  of  Derby's  sportsmen  true,  (13) 

One  descendant  (14)  of  Jack  Musters 
Saw  this  fine  run  fairly  through. 

Prancklin,  Charlton,  (15)  Mills,  {16)  and  Hibbert,  (17) 

Who  besides  must  others  say, 
Por  I  long  had  been  defeated 

On  my  little  mare  so  gay. 

Eleven  miles  from  point  to  point, 

Pull  thirty  all  they  ran ; 
Let  us  drink  their  healths  this  evening — 

Pox  and  hound,  and  horse,  and  man.  (i8j 

L.  C.  MUSTKES. 


11.  Mr.  Skelton,  the  steeplechase  rider,  and  Mr.  Meeson,  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Howett. 

12.  Lord  Newark  and  his  brother,  Hon.  Henry  Pierrepont,  who  died  the 
following  year. 

13.  Lord  Petersham  and  Mr.  Palmer,  of  Stanton. 
74.     Miss  Catherine  Chaworth  Musters. 

15.  Nicolas  Charlton,  Esq.,  of  Chilwell. 

16.  Mr.  Mills,  of  Burton  Joyce. 

17.  Mr.  Hibbert,  of  Nottingham, 

18.  From  Bleasby  Gorse,  the  furthest  point  to  the  south,  to  Culloden 
plantation,  near  Rufford,  eleven  miles. 


22 


EEMINISCENCES    OF    THE    SHOWS    OF 
FOXHOUNDS   AT   OSBERTOIST, 

ABOUT    1825. 

Oh  Charley,*  from  Betley,  how  dare  you  appear 
With  your  Staffordshire  turnspits  in  Nottinghamshire, 
And  before  the  fine  judgment  of  Lambton  to  bring 
A  son  of  your  Joker — some  poor  wretched  thing — 
Against  Pipers  and  Nestors  to  bear  off  a  prize. 
Oh  Charley  !  hold  hard,  lest  a  thought  should  arise, 
That  hunting  in  coal  pits  has  blinded  your  eyes. 
The  praises  of  Joker  you've  trumpeted  forth 
O'er  London's  grand  city  and  far  thro'  the  north, 
Till  you've  cheated  yourself  into  thinking,  alas  ! 
That  a  trumpet  of  silver  you'd  gain  for  your  brass ; 
Or  if  broadcloth  has  tempted  you  hither  to  come, 
How  dismal  the  prospect  next  winter  at  home : 
No  saddle  to  shield  you,  no  cloth  will  you  win, 
And  Joker  will  prove  a  bad  jest  for  your  skin. 

E.  HODSOF. 

This  was  a  letter  from  Mr.  Hodson  to  Mr.  Wick- 
sted  before  Mr.  Foljambe's  hound  show,  at  which  Mr. 
Wicksted's  hound,  Joker,  took  the  prize  of  a  horn  for 
the  master  and  a  saddle  and  broadcloth  for  coats  for 
the  men. 


*  Charles  Wicksted,  Esq.,  of  Betley,  born  1796  ;  also  mentioned  in  "The 
Woore  Country,"  which  he  hunted.  He  afterwards  kept  a  most  beautiful 
pack  of  harriers,  a  few  of  which  his  son,  the  present  George  Wicksted,  brought 
to  Oxford,  and  with  them  established  the  Christchurch  harriers.  Mr.  Wick- 
sted died  in  1870.  His  second  son  and  namesake  is  the  present  master  of  the 
Ludlow  hounds,  and  to  him  I  am  indebted  for  these  amusing  epistles. 


93 


Me.  Wicksted's  Eeplt. 

Oh  Nestor !  to  joke  thus  how  can  you  begin  ? 
Forgetting  the  proverb,  "  let  those  laugh  who  win." 
Tour  trencher-fed  puppies  won't  win  you  one  prize — 
Saddle,  broadcloth,  or  trumpet,  to  gladden  your  eyes. 
Ere  old  Wells's  coat  shall  be  shorn  of  its  skirts 
Both  you  and  Will  Danby  shall  work  in  your  shirts ; 
Tor  no  Holderness  tailor  shall  measure  a  stitch 
Of  the  broadcloth  that's  won  by  Holderness  bitch. 
Ton  must  use  your  old  saddles  and  break  your  old  reins 
With  pulling  old  screws  thro'  the  Holderness  drains. 
Of  the  silver-tongued  trumpet  depend  on't  no  hound 
On  the  far  side  of  Humber  will  e'er  hear  a  sound. 
So  from  joking  forbear — it  will  prove  a  wrong  cast — 
For  you're  sure  to  be  beat  by  a  Joker  at  last. 


THE  HFEWORTH  FOX  CHASE : 

A    BALLAD,    WRITTEN    Olf    THE    OCCASION    OF    A     MOST 

EEMARKABLE    EUN    WITH   Mr.    ChAELES   TuRNEE's 

HOUNDS  ON  THE  IST  DAY  OF  SePT.,  1775. 

Attend,  jolly  sportsmen,  I'll  sing  you  a  song, 
Which  cannot  fail  pleasing  the  old  and  the  young. 
I'll  sing  of  a  famous  old  fox  and  his  wiles, 
And  lead  you  a  dance  of  at  least  fifty  miles. 
I'll  tell  you  a  tale  of  such  men  and  such  hounds, 
With  what  courage  they  bound  o'er  all  sorts  of  grounds 
How  dogs  vie  with  dogs,  and  how  men  with  men  strive- 
Old  Draper  may  rue  that  he  was  not  alive. 


24 


At  Hurworth,  fam'd  village,  as  soon  as  'twas  light. 
We  feasted  our  eyes  with  a  ravishing  sight  : 
Each  sportsman  had  pleasure  and  health  in  his  face, 
And  horses  and  hounds  were  all  ripe  for  the  chase. 
But  first,  the  commander-in-chief  I  should  name. 
The  lord  of  Kirkleatham,  of  right  honest  fame, 
A  friend  to  good  men,  but  profess'dly  a  foe 
To  villains  of  four  legs  as  well  as  of  two. 
We  had  not  tried  long  before  Rafter  gave  mouth — 
Esteemed  by  the  pack  as  the  standard  of  truth. 
They  quickly  fly  to  him,  and  instant  declare 
That  Kafter  was  right,  for  a  fox  had  been  there ; 
And,  trust  me,  he  proved  a  notorious  blade. 
His  name  was  Old  Caesar,  and  plunder  his  trade : 
His  namesake,  in  all  the  great  battles  he  won, 
Spilled  less  blood  by  gallons  than  this  rogue  had  done. 
Unken'lling  at  Eyreholme,  he  first  tried  a  round 
In  which  he  might  run  about  four  miles  of  ground. 
Then  back  to  the  earths,  but  the  stopper  took  care 
To  baulk  him  from  making  his  quarters  good  there. 
Disdaining  such  treatment  he  flourished  his  brush. 
And  seemed  to  say,  "  Sportsmen,  I  care  not  a  rush ; 
I'll  give  you  such  proofs  of  my  stoutness  and  speed 
That  Nimrod  himself  would  have  honoured  the  breed." 
By  Smeaton  and  Hornby  he  next  took  his  way, 
Eesolved  to  make  this  a  remarkable  day ; 
Then  wheeled  to  the  left  for  the  banks  of  the  Tees, 
But  there  he  could  meet  neither  safety  nor  ease. 
Now  finding  with  what  sort  of  hounds  he'd  to  deal. 
And  that  his  pursuers  were  true  men  of  steel, 
He  pushed  to  gain  shelter  in  Craythorne  Wood, 
The  hounds  at  his  brush  all  eager  for  blood. 
The  field  all  alive,  now  we  smoaked  him  along, 
So  joyous  the  music,  each  note  was  a  song — 
All  round  us  was  melody,  spirit,  and  joy. 


25 


Next  passing  by  Marten  and  Ormesby  Hall, 

He  seemed  to  say,  "  Little  I  value  you  all." 

JFor  many  a  stout  horse  was  now  dropping  his  speed, 

And  to  see  them  tail  off  was  diverting  indeed. 

Now  found  to  be  thought  no  contemptible  fox, 

He  dared  us  to  follow  up  mountains  and  rocks ; 

But  th'  ascent  was  so  steep  and  so  painfully  won, 

That  few  gained  the  Eston  Hall  before  he  was  gone. 

To  Kirkleatham  Park  he  nexts  points  his  career, 

Hard  pressed  by  the  owner  to  spend  his  life  there ; 

Assuring  him  he  and  his  guests  would  not  fail 

All  possible  honour  to  render  his  tail. 

But  Turner  being  now  left  alone  on  the  field, 

And  finding  Old  Caesar  unwilling  to  yield. 

At  Kilton  thought  proper  to  finish  the  strife, 

So  called  off  the  dogs  to  give  Caesar  his  life. 

But  Blue  Bell  and  Bonny  Lass  would  have  a  meal — 

Whose  hearts  are  of  oak,  and  whose  loins  are  of  steel — 

So  followed  him  up  to  his  friends  of  the  mill, 

Where  triumphant  they  seized  him  and  feasted  their  fill. 

Then,  just  like  attraction  'twixt  needle  and  pole. 

All  center'd  that  evening  in  Kirkleatham  Hall, 

Where  the  bottle  of  red  and  the  fox-hunting  bowl 

Not  only  refreshed  but  exalted  the  soul. 

Then  may  the  kind  host  long  continue  to  grace 

His  country,  his  mansion,  and  also  the  chase ; 

And,  long  as  old  Time  shall  be  measured  by  clocks, 

May  a  Turner  for  ever  prevail  o'er  a  fox. 

By  the  Key.  Me.  Bramwell, 

Eector  of  Hurworth. 


26 


THE  BEDALE  HOUNDS  IN  1838. 

Here's  to  the  old  ones  of  fox-hunting  fame, 
Cleveland,  Kalph  Lampton  and  Harewood ; 

Here's  to  the  young  ones  that  after  them  came 
Who  will  not  say  that  they  are  good. 

Here's  to  the  master, (i)  well  skilled  in  the  art 

To  kill  an  old  fox  in  all  weathers ; 
Here's  to  the  riders,  all  ready  to  start, 

Brilliant  in  boots  and  in  leathers. 

Here's  to  the  hounds,  all  vigour  and  bone, 

In  condition  excelling  all  others ; 
Here's  to  old  Barwick,(2)  who  stands  quite  alone 

In  cheering  them  on  thro'  the  covers. 

Here's  to  the  Sportsmen,  I  give  you  each  name, 
Their  feats  and  their  fortunes  in  detail ; 

North  Riding  heroes,  all  eager  for  fame. 
To  be  reaped  in  the  country  of  Bedale. 

On  Borderer  mounted  see  Milbank  ride. 

Three  hundred  won't  buy  such  a  horse,  sir  ; 
Limbs  with  no  check  to  their  freedom  of  stride, 

Wind  without  whistle  or  cough,  sir. 

*'  Tally  Ho  !  Toot  a  toot !  he  is  gone,"  says  the  squire — 

Let  any  one  catch  them  who  can,  sir : 
Who  rides  with  my  hounds  a  good  horse  will  require, 

And  himself  he  must  be  a  good  man,  sir. 

Here's  to  the  Duke,(3)  if  he  leads  not  still  Leeds, 

To  borrow  a  joke  from  his  grace,  sir; 
A  nobleman  true,  both  in  word  and  in  deeds. 

And  the  firmest  support  of  the  chase,  sir. 

I.  Mr.  Milbank,  of  Thorp  Perrow,  died  1883.     2.  Mr.  Milbank's  first  whip. 

3.  The  6th  Duke  of  Leeds,  of  whom  Lord  Darlington  says,  "The  bril- 
liancy of  the  duke  of  Leeds's  strict  and  assiduous  preservation  of  the  noble 
animal,  the  fox,  showed  forth  most  conspicuously  to-day,  and  was  as  bright 
a  gem  as  any  in  his  grace's  star,  and  most  thankfully  acknowledged  by  me." 


27 


Here's  to  the  Gr8eme,(4)  wlio  does  not  disdain 
In  a  north  country  province  to  ride,  sir ; 

ITorgetting  that  once,  thro'  the  Leicestershire  plain, 
Scarce  a  rival  could  live  by  his  side,  sir. 

Here's  to  the  Colonel,(5)  if  warm  be  his  name, 

Both  that  and  his  heart  go  together ; 
In  pleasant  discourse,  whilst  we  ride  down  the  lane, 

Let  us  be  in  no  hurry  to  sever. 

Here's  to  friend  George,  the  beau  of  CamphilJ, 

A  good  one,  if  fast  be  the  chase,  sir ; 
To  pass  him,  1  tell  you,  requires  as  much  skill 

As  Fieschi,  when  he  won  the  race,  sir. 

Here's  to  the  Baron  of  Sawley  so  sly, — 

Here's  to  his  horse  that  is  black,  sir ; 
[Forgetting  that  always  a  crow  cannot  fly, 

He  fell  o'er  a  fence  on  his  back,  sir, 

Here's  to  Straubenzee,  the  dashing  and  bold. 
Taking  all  in  his  stroke  like  a  man,  sir ; 

And  the  pith  of  the  story  remains  to  he  told — 
You  can't  shake  him  oif  from  the  "  Van,"  sir. 

Here's  to  the  Major,  the  gallant  and  true. 

In  riding  to  no  one  he'll  yield,  sir ; 
See,  he  brings  by  his  side  a  young  damsel  in  view. 

To  beat  half  the  men  in  the  field,  sir. 

Here's  to  Dundas's,(6)  both  Thomas  and  John, 

They  come  but  to  make  us  remember 
How  short  is  their  stay — for  to  London  they're  gone 

Ere  the  end  of  the  month  of  November. 


4.  Sir  Bellingham  Graham. 

5.  Colonel  Arden. 

t.     Sons  of  the  first  Earl  of  Zetland. 


28 


Here's  to  the  young  ones,  whose  race  scarce  begun, 
Young  Mark,  and  the  ensign,  his  brother ; 

They  show  of  a  stock  most  goodly  they  come, 
As  they  tread  in  the  steps  of  their  father.  (7) 

The  gallant,  the  ardent,  of  promise  so  fair, 

The  Beresford  brothers  they  bring ; 
A  word  from  my  pen  must  give  them  their  share 

Of  the  honours  and  glories  I  sing. 

Many  good  ones  remain — Hodson,  Crompton,  and  Tower, 
Fox,  Ward,  and  the  young  one  from  Norton ; 

But  to  mention  them  all  is  not  in  my  power, 
So,  surely  it  cannot  be  thought  on. 

And  here's  to  the  squire  of  Thirsk,  Jack  Bell,  (8) 
Who  supports  both  the  chase  and  the  turf,  sir ; 

He  will  not,  unless  he  likes  it,  go  well, 
Tho'  the  hounds  may  run  ever  so  fast,  sir. 

Here's  a  bumper  to  Milbank,  the  source  of  our  sport — 

A  bumper  to  him  and  his  hounds,  sir ; 
Brim-full  it  shall  be  of  the  finest  old  port. 

Where  health  and  good  humour  abound,  sir. 

And  may  we  all  flourish  till  green  our  old  age  is, 

Such  fun  and  such  sport  to  pursue,  sir ; 
And  your  ''lame"  humble  poet  to  be  hanged  now  engages 

If  his  composition  's  not  true,  sir. 

By  the  Rev.  John  Monson, 
from  "  EecoUections  of  Sportsmen,"  &c., 
by  Colonel  Van  Straubenzee. 


Mr.  Milbank's  sons. 

Master  of  the  Hambledon  hounds. 


29 


THE  PEOPHET  IN  HIS  OWN  COUNTRY; 

OE,  DUFTT  IN  DERBTSHIEE. 

187—. 

In  tlie  days  of  Percy  Williams,  (i) 

In  the  time  of  Scarbro's  peer,  (2) 
Lived  at  Epperstone  a  sportsman 

Keen  of  sight  and  quick  of  ear. 
Looking  down  a  grassy  riding, 

Or  across  his  Dumbies  dear. 
Never  could  a  fox  evade  him. 

Or  escape  his  ringing  cheer. 

Ear  away  in  Winkburn  woodlands, 

Or  in  Eufford's  forest  glade ; 
Erom  the  ancient  gorse  of  Bleasby 

To  the  Blidworth  fir  trees'  shade ; 
Ev'ry  earth  and  smeuse  he  knows  them, 

Ev'ry  hole  that  e'er  was  made. 
"  What  a  whipper-in  is  lost  there," 

Wond'ring  at  him,  people  said. 

By  and  by,  when  Squire  Musters,  (3) 

Who  to  sport  did  ever  lean, 
Wanted  to  revive  the  glories 

That  in  South  Notts,  once  were  seen ; 


1.  Captain  Percy  Williams,  the  celebrated  gentleman  huntsman,  master 
of  the  Rufiord  hounds  from  1841  to  i860. 

2.  John,  8th  Earl  of  Scarbro',  died  1856. 

3.  John  Chaworth  Musters,  born  1838.  Hunted  the  South  Notts, 
country  from  1861  to  1868,  the  Quorn  from  1868  to  1870,  and,  returning  to 
South  Notts,  in  1871,  hunted  that  country  till  1876,  when  he  was  obliged, 
through  ill-health,  to  give  up  his  hounds. 


30 


Saying,  "  Let  us  liave  some  foxhounds — 
That  may  be  which  once  has  been." 

Who  so  full  of  zeal  as  Dufty  ?  (4) 
Who  so  anxious  ?  who  so  keen  ? 

Still  the  same  as  years  pass  o'er  him. 

Clad  in  sportsmanlike  array ; 
Hunting  always  j&nds  him  ready 

With  a  scent  to  sail  away. 
Does  a  flooded  brook  need  fording  ? 

Dufty's  here  and  knows  the  way. 
Does  a  straight-necked  fox  want  finding  ? 

What  has  Dufty  got  to  say  ? 

So  at  last  we  grew  to  think  him 

Filled  with  wisdom  more  than  man ; 
Wily  in  the  ways  of  creatures — 

Fause  as  any  fox  that  ran. 
One  fine  day  our  master,  Eolleston,  (5) 

Hunting  always  all  he  can, 
Thinks  to  please  his  good  friend  Dufty, 

And  unfolds  to  him  this  plan : — 

''  On  next  Saturday  we're  going 

To  a  country  rich  and  rare ; 
Full  of  covers,  grass,  and  foxes — 

Oh !  the  scents  that  we  have  there ! 
You  shall  bring  your  horse  to  Gedling — 

Place  him  in  the  train  with  care, 
Then  be  wafted  smooth  and  swiftly 

To  that  land  beyond  compare." 


4.  Thomas  Dufty,  of  Epperstone,  one  of  the  best  of  sportsmen,  and  the 
hero  of  this  poem. 

5.  Lancelot  Rolleston,  of  Watnall.    Hunted  the  South  Notts,  country 
from  1876  to  1882. 


31 


To  the  tempter  Duffcy  listened. 

When  the  morning  came  he  went, 
Travelled  by  Great  Northern  Eailway, 

Still  on  Horsley  Car  intent. 
When  he  got  there,  quite  delighted, 

(Covers,  foxes,  grass,  and  scent,) 
All  he  found  that  he'd  been  told  off — 

"  This  is  what  the  master  meant." 

Later  on,  that  winter  evening, 

Coxbench  covers  must  be  drawn. 
"  Dufty,  you  stand  here  to  view  him, 

Close  beside  that  black  old  thorn." 
You,  I  know,  won't  let  him  slip  you ; 

You're  a  man  one  need  not  warn." 
Small  this  cover  is,  and  hollow — 

Foxes  here  must  soon  be  gone. 

Hark !  the  joyful  news  proclaiming ! 

Foxhounds'  music  fills  the  air ; 
Ev'ry  heart  beats  loud  and  gaily, 

Waiting  Dufty's  welcome  cheer. 
Strange  !  the  silence  still  unbroken — 

To  that  end  he  ran  'tis  clear ; 
Hounds  come  pouring  to  the  corner — 

"  Sir,  I'm  sure  he's  not  gone  here." 

Can  I  tell  this  wondrous  story : 

How  he  passed  'neath  Dufty's  nose  : 
Ean  right  down  the  ditch  below  him, 

Almost  grazed  his  horse's  toes  ? 
Sad  and  scornful  were  the  murmurs 

From  the  strangers  there  that  rose. 
South  Notts,  men  must  now  knock  under — 

Derbyshire  o'er  Dufty  crows. 

L.  C.  MUSTEES. 


32 


An  exact  account  of  the  Fox  Chase  on  ye  2nd  of 

Decembee,     1745,    by    his    Grace    the    Duke    of 

Grafton's  hounds,  as  follows  : — 

Unkenneld  at  half  an  hour  past  nine  of  the  clock  in 
the  forenoon  at  Ladis  Carr,  near  the  Decoy  in  Euston, 
and  from  thence  came  away  over  the  Heath  to  the  Marie 
Pit,  through  Honington  and  by  Sapson  Carr.  From 
thence  to  Bangor  Bridge,  came  along  the  late  Mrs. 
Eeade's  Carr,  and  cross  the  road  by  Back  Bridge. 
Went  away  for  Stanton  Chair,  over  the  deal,  and  past 
Stanton  earth,  and  then  through  ye  corn  grounds,  the 
back  side  of  Hepworth  common  to  Seacey's  hole,  when 
we  turned  towards  the  right,  and  came  thro'  Walsham- 
le- Willows ;  and  then  for  Langham  common  down  to 
Stow-langtoft,  and  across  the  river  between  Wayley 
poole  and  Stow  bridge,  and  then  to  Packenham  wood, 
and  from  thence  to  ye  Kiln  grounds,  the  back  side  of 
Thurston  common.  From  thence  to  Beighton  groves, 
and  on  to  Drinkston  and  Hesset  groves,  and  near  Moule 
wood,  and  past  Drinkston  Hall ;  and  from  thence  to 
Eattlesden,  between  the  great  wood  and  the  street,  and 
thro'  Haisel  grove  to  Wood  Hall,  when  ye  hounds  were 
at  a  check  for  two  or  three  minutes,  which  was  ye  only 
check  during  the  whole  chase.  The  huntsman  took  a 
half  cast,  and  hit  it  off,  and  came  away  across  Buxhall, 
Fen  Street,  and  from  thence  to  Norfield,  and  by  Fox 
Hill  Grove,  and  across  the  Stow  Market  road  to  Day- 
worth  hills,  and  thro'  old  Newton  and  bear-gipping 
wood  ;  then  away  for  Stow  upland,  and  from 
thence  to  West  Greeting,  over  the  green  by  Eay- 
don  Hall ;  then  we  turned  on  the  right  and  came 
down  to  Combs,  and  across  the  two  rivers  by  Cook's 
ivater  mill,  and  across  the  road  between  Combsford  and 


Stow  Market  wind  mills,  and  then  thro'  Mr.  John 
Baylis'  cheny  yard  to  the  sign  of  the  Shepherd  and  Dog 
in  one  house,  and  killed  by  some  hop  yards,  near 
William  WoUaston's,  Esq.,  at  four  of  the  clock  in  the 
afternoon. 

N.B. — This  is  as  Brief  an  account  as  can  be  given, 
notwithstanding  there  was  several  Rings  and  Turns  too 
tedious  to  insert  here.  Ean  through  twenty-eight 
Parishes,  which  in  whole,  upon  a  moderate  computation, 
is  sixty  miles  by  care. 

John  Goodrich. 

Copied  by  the  Duke  of  Grafton  from  an  old  sporting 
book  at  Euston  Hall,  1860  (from  A.  Hamond). 

Euston  to  Greeting  is  seventeen  miles  as  the  crow 
flies.— L.  C.  M. 


A  EUN  WITH  THE  « WEST  OE  FIEE." 

Eebeuaet  2nd,  1877. 

Loud  blows  the  wind  around  the  house, 
Eain  dashes  on  the  pane ; 
The  Western  Hunt  bemoan  their  fate, 
Eor  the  meet  is  Pitfirrane. 

But,  nothing  daunted,  on  they  pull 
Their  breeches,  spurs,  and  boots  ; 
And  come  in  Eed,  and  some  in  Black, 
And  some  in  other  suits. 


84 


A  few  appear  on  wheels  that  day. 
And  two  have  come  by  rail ; 
But  if  I  counted  all  who  came, 
'Twould  make  too  long  a  tale. 

The  Hounds  were  brought  before  the  door, 

And  gathered  in  a  cluster  ; 

Their  eyes  shone  bright, 

High  waved  their  sterns. 

Their  coats  all  shone  with  lustre. 

The  Master  in  the  middle  sits 
Upon  his  mare  "  Gazette ;" 
Says  he,  "  The  ground  is  very  deep, 
"  But  I'll  be  with  em  yet." 

Jack  Shepherd,  on  the  kicking  mare, 
Is  eager  for  the  fray; 
And  Harry  Sinclair,  second  whip, 
Is  on  the  snorting  grey. 

But  time  is  up,  so  let  us  move, 
Lead  on  to  Wood  of  Dean ; 
"  Look  out  for  riot,"  Harry,  Jack ! 
"  For  hounds  are  very  keen." 

Then  in  they  dash,  and  quest  about, 
A  fox  can  never  rest  here ; 
But  hark !  a  Hound  two  miles  a-head  ! 
No  matter  that,  «'Tis  '  Nestor.'"  * 

But  now,  a  deep  and  solemn  note 

Is  heard  within  the  wood  : 

"  'Tis  '  Roe,' "  says  Jack ;  "  'Tis  not,"  said  I, 

"  'Tis  '  Eorester,'  the  good." 

An  incorrigible  hare  hunter,  but  afterwards  turned  out  well. 


35 


"  'Tis  '  Forester,'  the  good  old  Hound, 
"  And  hark,  hark  to  his  cry  ;" 
Away  they  scramble  through  the  brake, 
And  quickly  to  him  fly. 

A  whimper  from  a  younger  Hound, 
Who's  rather  in  a  fright, 
But  "  Reginald  "  and  "  Lurgan  "  come. 
And  quickly  set  him  right. 

And  now  the  chorus  loud  resounds 
Throughout  the  forest  glade ; 
The  fox  begins  to  think  that  he 
Must  leave  its  welcome  shade. 

Away  he  goes,  and  pointing  south. 
As  if  for  Shores  of  Forth, 
Holds  on  to  Torrie  Park,  and  then 
He  bends  a  Httle  north. 

Through  Oakley  Woods  and  past  the  house, 
He  leads  a  merry  dance  ; 
The  owner  would  have  liked  the  fun, 
Bat  he's  away  in  France. 

On  o'er  the  railway,  up  the  hill. 
And  past  a  farm  he  speeds ; 
"  'Twill  put,"  the  farmer  loudly  shouts, 
"My  cattle  ofl" their  feeds." 

Blair  Wood  appears,  they  do  not  dwell. 
But  steady  hunt  him  through ; 
Kinneddar's  strips  and  policies 
Now  burst  upon  the  view. 


36 


Across  the  road  bo  Bandrum  Hill, 
But  here  he  runs  his  foil, 
A  check  ensues,  we're  all  at  fault, 
So  round  the  hill  we  toil. 

A  shepherd  waves  his  cap  on  high, 
"  The  Tod  is  north  !"  shouts  he, 
"  The  biggest  one  that  e'er  I've  seen ; 
*'  He's  near  as  long  as  me !" 

Across  the  road  we  get  a  scent, 
Yes  !  surely  that's  his  line ; 
They  score  to  cry ;  away  they  go ; 
My  certes,  but  it's  fine. 

Now  "  Eioter,"  he  shoots  a-head. 
Who  once  was  fond  of  Hare, 
But  now  a  fox  is  scarce  afoot, 
But  "  Rioter  "  is  there. 

Still  up  the  hill  they  stream  away, 
"  Excelsior"  is  the  cry ; 
And  some  of  us  begin  to  think 
Our  nags  will  surely  die. 

"  Come  up,  good  horse,  we  will  be  there, 
*'  The  hill  we  must  get  round," 
They  cock  their  ears,  their  bristles  rise, 
"We'll  have  him  for  a  Pound !" 

Now  cast  your  eye  along  yon  hedge, 
Which  leads  to  Milton  Den ; 
"  'Tis  he  !  I  see  his  drooping  brush ; 
*'  He's  mine  for  Three  Pounds  Ten !" 


They  view  him  now,  and  what  a  rush ! 
It  is  a  glorious  burst ; 
'Tis  "  Saffron  "  now,  'tis  "  Stormer  "  yet ! 
Ah  !  "  Gaylad"  has  him  first. 

"  Give  me  a  pad,"  young  Oswald  cries, 
His  riding  was  a  caution ; 
His  sister,  who  went  well,  is  there. 
The  Brush  shall  be  her  portion. 

'*  Give  me  a  pad,"  George  Prentice  said, 
"  To  nail  upon  my  door ;" 
"  And  me,  and  me,"  the  others  cry, 
Alas  !  he  has  but  four. 

"  The  Hounds  all  up  but  one,"  says  Jack, 
A  Hound  of  evil  habit ; 
Ha  !  what's  that  going  o'er  the  hill  ? 
'Tis  "  Kestor  "  with  a  rabbit ! 

But  we  must  let  him  off  this  time, 
Nor  Avhip,  nor  rate  be  heard ; 
'T would  never  do  to  damp  our  joy — 
His  punishment's  deferred. 

And  now  for  home ;  and  though  they  say 
The  "  Eastern  "f  pack's  the  best. 
Then  come  and  try,  ye  Eastern  swells, 
A  gallop  with  the  "  AYest." 

Erom  SiE  Arthue  Halkett. 
Pitfirrane,  Feb.,  1877. 


t  Colonel  Anstruther  Thomson  hunted  the  East  of  Fife  ;    Sir  Arthur 
Flalkett  the  West. 


38 


LOliD     GAEDNER. 


In  the  "  Sporting  Magazine,"  forty-five  years  ago,  there 
appeared  a  poem  called  "  The  Chaunt  of  Achilles/'  con- 
cerning the  authorship  of  which  no  slight  curiosity  was 
expressed  at  the  time.  The  lines  in  question  purported 
to  issue  from  the  bronze  lips  of  the  Achilles  statue  in 
Hyde  Park,  and  to  satirise  the  appearance,  character, 
and  antecedents  of  all  the  most  conspicuous  persons  of 
both  sexes  who  frequented  "  the  Eow,"  upon  which  the 
Grecian  hero  still  looks  down.  Shortly  after  the  death 
of  Mr.  Bernal  Osborne,  some  papers  were  found  which 
seemed  to  establish  that  *'  The  Chaunt  of  Achilles  "  came 
from  his  pen,  nor  is  there  any  lack  of  internal  evidence 
to  show  that  this  surmise,  if  not  correct,  is  at  least  not 
wanting  in  probability.  The  anonymous  author  was 
certainly  of  a  sarcastic  and  censorious  turn,  and  among 
the  well-known  personages  of  the  day  who  came  under 
his  lash  none  fared  worse  or  received  harder  measure 
than  the  third  Lord  Gardner,  who  died  last  week.  In 
1838,  when  '*  The  Chaunt  of  Achilles "  was  written, 
Lord  Gardner  was  in  his  twenty-ninth  year,  and  had 
already  established  for  himself  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  best  and  hardest  riders  that  ever  sailed  across 
country  with  the  Quorn  or  Pytchley  hounds.  Achilles 
exclaims — 

*'But  lo!  where,  following  on  chesnut  dark, 
The  grinning  Gardner  canters  down  the  park, 
Slow  in  the  Senate,  though  not  wanting  sense, 
Quick  at  retort,  but  quicker  at  a  fence ; 
With  him  no  hunter  ever  dare  refuse. 
So  good  his  hand,  though  damnable  his  muse. 
Strange,  though  for  years  I've  listened  to  the  crowd 
Who  canvass  character,  the  rich,  the  proud, 


39 


Of  him  alone  I  never  yet  have  heard 

One  kindly  action,  one  approving  word. 

Sparing  of  cash,  he  ne'er  outruns  the  bounds, 

And  Suffield  keeps  while  Gardner  hunts  the  hounds." 

The  pack  here  alluded  to  was,  of  course,  the  Quorn, 
which  Lord  Southampton  had  given  up  at  the  end  of 
the  hunting  season  of  1830,  to  be  succeeded,  first  by 
Squire  Osbaldeston,  and  then  by  Lord  Suffield.  It  is  a 
melancholy  reflection  that  the  deaths  of  Lord  Wilton, 
of  Mr.  Stirling  Crawfurd,  and  Lord  Gardner,  have  so 
thinned  the  ranks  of  the  first-flight  men  who  flourished 
at  Melton  about  the  time  when  her  Majesty  ascended 
the  throne  that,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Little  Gil- 
mour,  of  Colonel  Forester,  and  of  that  evergreen  veteran, 
the  Eeverend  Mr.  Bullen,*  of  Eastwell,  there  are  none 
others  now  left. 

Another  death  has  lately  taken  place — that  of  a  lady 
— which  reminds  us  of  the  vast  changes  that  English 
fox-hunting  has  experienced  since  the  day  when,  nearly 
seventy  years  ago,  the  Honourable  Barbara  Annesley, 
great-aunt  to  the  present  Lord  Valentia,  married  Squire 
Drake,  of  Shardeloes,  who  was  for  many  years  Master 
ot  the  Bicester  hounds.  "What  recollections  will  not 
the  decease  of  Mrs.  Drake,  in  her  eighty-sixth  year, 
call  up  in  the  minds  of  many  generations  of  Oxford 
undergraduates,  who  hunted  with  her  husband's  hounds 
when  Plancus  was  Consul  ?  Within  the  memory  of 
many  who  have  scarcely  passed  middle  age,  the  Peck- 
water  quadrangle  at  Christ  Church,  and  the  gates  of  nearly 
every  other  College  in  Oxford,  were  alive  upon  a  hunting 
morning  with  cover  hacks, upon  the  backs  of  which  scores  of 
eager  undergraduates  proceeded  to  mountain  order  to  make 

*  Mr.  Bullen  is  since  dead,  1884. 


40 


their  way  at  full  gallop  to  Stratton  Audley,  or  Bletcliing- 
ton,  or  to  other  well-known  meets  of  Squire  Drake's 
hounds.  Even  the  strict  discipline  of  Baliol  College 
when  Dr.  Jenkins  was  Master  did  not  restrain  the 
present  Duke  of  Westminster,  the  late  George  Law- 
rence, author  of  "  Guy  Livingstone,"  and  ISir  Henry 
Des  Voeux,  from  hunting  with  Mr.  Drake  or  with  the 
Heythrop  hounds  three  or  four  times  in  every  week ; 
while  University  College  habitually  sent  forth  a  host  of 
her  sons,  with  Mr.  George  Glyn,  now  Lord  Wolverton, 
at  their  head,  to  try  their  luck  with  the  Berkshire  pack. 
When  the  late  Sir  Robert  Clifton  came  up  to  reside  at 
Christ  Church  in  1844,  he  brought  fourteen  hunters  with 
him,  and  in  those  days  the  life  of  an  undergraduate, 
especially  if  he  was  a  "  tuft,"  or  a  gentleman  commoner, 
differed  little  from  that  of  a  regular  habitue  of 
Melton  Mowbray  or  Market  Harborough.  The  "  dons  " 
did  not  interfere  much  with  the  pleasures  and  pursuits 
of  fast  and  opulent  men,  so  long  as  they  got  home 
before  midnight  and  slept  in  college;  and  it  required  no 
sUght  amount  of  ingenuity  for  an  undergraduate  to  get 
rusticated  in  those  easy-going  times.  It  was  reserved 
for  half-a-dozen  men  belonging  to  the  fast  set  at  Palliol 
in  1846  to  draw  the  displeasure  of  the  Master  upon 
their  heads,  by  riding  a  steeplechase  among  themselves, 
which  led  to  their  being  sent  down  for  the  rest  of  the 
term.  On  the  Derby  Day  undergraduates  were  com- 
pelled to  dine  in  hall  at  five  o'clock,  so  that  it  should  be 
impossible  for  them  to  attend  the  great  race  at  Epsom ; 
but  the  penalties  attached  to  disobedience  did  not  prevent 
Sir  Tatton  Sykes  from  going  to  Epsom  in  Pyrrhus  I.'s 
year;  the  result  being  that  his  career  as  an  undergraduate 
came  prematurely  to  an  end. 

The  picture  of  "Melton  in  1830,"  drawn  by  Lord 
Gardner's  hand,  would  not  fit  the  Melton  of  "to-day. 


41 


and  the  fields  in  which  he  was  a  protagonist  were  small 
indeed  as  compared  with  the  swarming  hosts  of  well- 
mounted  men  who  now  attend  the  meets  of  the  Quorn  and 
Cottesmore  hounds.  As  regards  hard  riding,  we  do  not 
believe  there  is  much  difference  between  the  best  perform- 
ers of  forty  and  fifty  years  ago  and  their  successors  of 
to-day.  \V'e  are  told  by  croakers  that  the  days  o£  fox- 
hunting are  numbered  in  these  sporting  islands  ;  but  so 
long  as  Melton  and  every  other  hunting  centre  boasts 
the  presence  of  riders  who  are  not  inferior  to  Lord 
Wilton  and  Lord  Gardner  when  at  their  best,  we  do 
not  expect  to  see  any  diminution  in  the  number  of  packs 
which  take  the  field  in  each  successive  November. 
Lord  Grardner  died  ^November,  1883. 


Erom  a  newspaper  cuttin* 


HAZLEEOED   EEERT : 

a  tale  of  disastee. 

Eebruart    5th,    1877. 
■  The  mirth,  and  the  adventure,  and  the  sport  that  we  have  shared.' 

Of  those  who  met  at  Epperstone  on  Monday  last  I  tell, 
The  changes  and  the  chances  which  that  motley  crew 

befell; 
Erom  the  gentlemen  in  scarlet  coats  w^ho  o'er  the  fences 

sail 
To  the  little  boys  on  ponies  and  the  tagrag  and  bobtail. 


42 


The  north-west  wind  was  blowing  on  that  Februaiy 

morn, 
And  at  Thistley  when  they  went  away  we  could  not 

hear  the  horn. 
Then  such  galloping  and  questioning,  such  riding  and 

such  rage, 
Till  at  Thurgarton  we  find  them,  and  at  once  our  wrath 

assuage. 

On  to  Bleasby,  slowly  hunting,  we  come  up  by  twos  and 

threes, 
And,  o'er  the  ploughs   performing,  we  arrive  by  slo\^ 

degrees. 
From  the  gorse  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  our 

dream. 
As  downwards  o'er  the  railway  the  hounds  began  to 

stream. 

How  we  cantered,  how  we  galloped,  and  how  down  the 

lane  we  rode ; 
How  we  saw  the  scent  improving  as  a  gallant  head  they 

showed. 
I  cannot  well  describe  it,  for  my  timid  heart  beat  fast, 
When  I  saw  the  Trent  before  us,  and  I  felt  the  die  was 

cast: 

One  moment  in  the  meadows  close  beside  the  flood  w  ' 

shrink. 
And  we  anxiously  watch  Eolleston  as  he  casts  them  on 

the  brink ; 
But  the  voices  of  the  bargemen  that  rise  above  the  roar, 
And  their  cruel  gestures  show  us  that  he's  reached  tlK' 

further  shore. 


43 


The  river's  running. swift  and  strong,  the  current  it  is 

wide, 
Yet  we  must  chance  the  danger — we  must  reach  the 

other  side. 
So  spake  each  sportsman  hardy  as  he  joined  the  pushing 

mass 
That  down  beside  the  water  scarcely  let  each  other  pass. 

A  sportsman  of  experience  thus  to  his  daughters  spoke, 
"  If  w^e  wait  till  all  are  over,  I  can  see  'twill  be  no  joke  ; 
Supposing  down  the  river  we  were  craftily  to  ride, 
Over  Iiskerton  we  rapidly  shall  reach  the  other  side." 

Meanwhile  the  hounds  and  huntsmen  had  been  ferried 

o'er  the  flood, 
And  their  voices,  gaily  chiming,  we  could  hear  beneath 

Stoke  "Wood, 
As  we  hurried  on  to  Fiskerton  vdth  souls  intent  on  sport, 
Thinking  gladly  we  should  nick  them  as  they  down  the 

wind  turned  short. 

0  !  how  vexing  was  that  tow-path,  with  its  heavy  double 

gates, 
And  the  best  of  men  how  trying  when  about  his  horse 

he  prates. 
But  at  length  we  reach  our  ferry — no  wall  difficulty's  o'er. 
"  Hi !  boatman  !  come,  look  sharp,  I  say,  and  punt  us 

to  yon  shore." 

Just  conceive  our  indignation,  and  the  blow  that  we 

were  dealt : 
"  Yery  sorry,  sir ;  impossible ;  the  bottom  can't  be  felt." 
Quite  remorseless,  full  of  enterprise,  we  onward  dash 

again. 
Scarcely  thinking,  never  caring  if  our  errand  is  in  vain. 


44 


Fortune  seems  to  smile  upon  us  when  we  reach  the 

-Parndon  shore. 
Here's  a  chain — boat,  strong  and  likely,  will  hold  six 

or  even  more. 
With  reckless  haste  we  crowd  in — seven  mortals,  horses 

five — 
With  a  guilty  sense  of  triumph  that  we  sooner  shall 

arrive 

Than  the  sportsman  of  experience  who  waits  the  second 

turn, 
With  his  daughter  sadly  watching  as  their  hearts  within 

them  burn. 
But  ah !  what  horrid  noise  is  this  that  breaks  upon  my 

ear  ? 
A  rasping,  and  a  rattling,  and  a  snapping  sound  I  hear. 

Then  in  that  laden  ferry  boat  was  tumult  and  affright, 
For  alas  !  the  chain  had  broken !  we  were  in  a  helpless 

plight. 
With  our  broadside  to  the  water,  while  the  horses  stamp 

and  snort — 
An  unpleasant  situation,  and,  you  see,  with  danger 

fraught. 

So  rapidly  we  glide  along  the  eddying  stream  straight 

down. 
It  doesn't  seem  unlikely  we  shall  soon  reach  Newark 

town ; 
Unless  upon  a  sand-bank  we  are  left  to  pass  the  day 
In  a  sort  of  picnic  party,  but  without  the  bill  to  pay. 


45 


But  by  dint  of  poles  and  punting,  and  of  myrmidons 

with  ropes. 
It  appears  of  landing  safely  we  may  entertain  good  hopes. 
But  we  must  take  farewell  of  those  we  leave  the  other 

side. 
As  on  the  sodden  grass  we  leap  with  thankfulness  and 

pride. 

Now  after  such  adventures  and  disasters  who  could 

guess 
That  we  found  our  trouble  wasted — was  there  ever  such 

a  mess  ? 
We  galloped  down  the  old  Foss  road,  we  galloped  o'er 

the  plough, 
But  hounds  and  huntsman  all  are  gone — we  cannot  hear 

them  now. 

The  gallant  fox  swam  back,  they  say,  and  lives  to  run 

again, 
And  if  we're  there  to  hunt  him  we'll  forgive  the  broken 

chain. 
The  sportsmen  on  the  other  side  who  saw  the  evening's 

run 
With  us  will  wish  these  hounds  good  luck  and  "  years 

of  future  fun." 

L.  C.  M. 


THE  ETJFFOED  HOUNDS. 

SiR^ — On  Tuesday,  Nov.  29,  these  hounds  had  a 
remarkable  run,  which  will  long  be  remembered  by  those 
who  were  fortunate  enough  to  see  it^  and  which  has 


46 


never  been  surpassed  in  the  annals  of  fox-hunting  in 
the  Eufford  country.  The  meet  was  at  Caunton  Manor, 
and,  after  the  usual  chat  with  Canon  Hole,  who  loves 
fox-hunting,  as  does  his  good  lady,  the  Master  decided 
to  draw  Werner  Wood  instead  of  Caunton  Park  (where 
the  Canon  can  generally  find  as  good  a  fox  as  most 
folks).  His  reason  for  so  doing  was  that  Werner 
Wood  held  twice  this  season  a  wild  fox  who  was  off 
before  hounds  were  fairly  in  the  covert.  On  this  occa- 
sion the  Master  viewed  him  away  just  as  Hayes  was 
about  throwing  his  hounds  (the  dog  pack)  into  the  wood, 
and  soon  every  hound  was  on  his  line  and  away  for 
Caunton  Park,  where  he  did  not  dwell  a  moment,  but 
held  on  to  Ossington  High  Wood.  Just  before  reaching 
this  covert  a  sheep-dog  coursed  him,  and  hounds  checked, 
as  they  always  do  when  these  brutes  interfere ;  but 
Hayes  hit  him  off  into  the  wood,  and,  getting  a  holloa 
away  from  Harry  on  the  other  side,  was  soon  at  Knee- 
sail  Green  Wood.  Through  this  covert  hounds  hunted 
him  steadily  and  well,  and  again  was  he  viewed  away  by 
Harry  pointing  for  Wellow  Park ;  but,  turning  short  of 
it,  he  ran  through  Finder's  Farm,  and  made  as  if  for 
Kirton  Wood,  turned  down  the  hill  into  the  village,  and 
hounds  nearly  had  him  in  the  orchards,  but  he  slipped 
through  a  yard  and  over  the  fine  grass  meadows  and 
the  brook,  which  proved  fatal  to  more  than  one,  and  a 
bridge  breaking  in  likewise,  the  field  was  considerably 
reduced,  and  set  his  head  straight  for  the  forest,  hounds 
running  hard  over  Boughton  Brake,  and  through  the 
small  covert  alongside  the  river,  past  Conger  Alders, 
over  the  Ketford-road,  as  if  for  Patmore,  in  Lord 
Gralway's  country,  but  his  strength  was  failing,  and  soon 
the  Master  viewed  him  struggling  on  before  the  hounds, 
who  were  now  running  for  their  fox  past  Peck's  Farm, 


47 


through  Blyth  Corner,  into  Clumber,  where  again  he  is 
viewed  by  Hayes,  who  was,  as  he  invariably  is,  close  to 
his  hounds,  and  just  before  they  reached  the  boundary 
of  the  Kufford  country,  the  hounds  (whose  work  from 
beginning  to  end  had  been  beyond  all  praise)  ran  into 
him  in  fine  style  close  to  the  Clumber  Nurseries,  and 
not  a  stone's  throw  from  Normanton  Inn.  A  select 
few,  good  men  and  true  every  one,  saw  this  grand  old 
fox  given  to  the  good  hounds,  who  so  well  deserved 
him,  and  all  turned  homewards,  believing  they  had  seen 
such  a  run  as  they  could  hardly  hope  to  see  again. 
With  a  long  experience  of  the  country,  I  may  say  that 
I  never  remember  a  " clay"  fox  coming  so  far  into  the 
forest,  and  I  never  recollect  scent  being  equally  good 
on  both  "  clay  "  and  "  sand."  The  distance  as  the  crow 
flies  is  twelve  miles,  as  they  ran,  fourteen.  Time,  one 
hour  and  fifty  minutes. 

Sheewood  J^'orest.    (T.  H.  D.  B.) 


THE    GLORY    OF    MOTION: 
South  Oxfordshiee. 

Three  twangs  of  the  horn,  and  they're  all  out  of  cover — 

Must  have  yon  old  bullfinch,  that's  right  in  the  way : 

A  rush,  and  a  bound,  and  a  crash,  and  I'm  over ; 

They're  silent,  and  racing,  and  for'ard  away  ! 

Fly,  Charley,  my  darling  !  away  and  we  follow  ! 

There's  no  earth  or  cover  for  mile  upon  mile ; 

We're  winged  with  the  flight  of  the  stork   and   the 

swallow — 
The  heart  of  the  eagle  is  ours  for  a  while. 


48 


The  pasture  land  knows  not  of  rough  plough  or  harrow, 
The  hoofs  echo  hollow  and  soft  on  the  sward ; 
The  soul  of  the  horses  goes  into  our  marrow — 
My  saddle's  the  kingdom,  whereof  I  am  lord ; 
And,  rolling  and  flowing  beneath  us  like  ocean, 
Gray  waves  of  the  high  ridge  and  furrow  glide  on ; 
And  small  flying  fences,  in  musical  motion, 
Before  us,  beneath  us,  behind  us,  are  gone. 

Oh,  puissant  of  bone  and  of  sinew  availing. 

To  speed  through  the  glare  of  the  long  desert  hours ; 

My  white-breasted  camel,  the  meek  and  unfailing. 

That  sighed  not,  like  me,  for  the  shades  and  the  showers ; 

And  bright  little  Barbs,  with  veracious  pretences 

To  blood  ^  the  Prophet's  and  Solomon's  sires ; 

You  stride  not  the  stride,  and  you  fly  not  the  fences. 

And  all  the  wide  Hejaz  is  naught  to  the  Shires. 

0,  gay  gondolier  !  from  thy  night-flitting  shallop 
I've  heard  the  soft  pulses  of  oar  and  guitar ; 
But  sweeter 's  the  rhythmical  rush  of  the  gallop, 
The  ''  fire  in  the  saddle,"  the  flight  of  the  star. 
Old  mare,  my  beloved,  no  stouter  or  faster 
Hath  ever  strode  under  a  man  at  his  need : 
Be  glad  in  the  hand  and  embrace  of  thy  master, 
And  pant  to  the  passionate  music  of  speed. 

Old  Beauty — how  quickly,  as  onw^ard  she  races 

And  "  comes  through  her  horses  "  in  spite  of  my  hold, 

I  catch  the  expression  of  jolly  brown  faces 

Of  parties  a-going  it  over  the  wold. 

They  mostly  look  anxiously  glad  to  be  in  it. 

All  hitting,  and  holding,  and  bucketing  past ; 

O,  pleasure  of  pleasures  !  from  minute  to  minute — 

The  pace  and  the  horses — may  both  of  them  last. 


49 


Can  there  e'er  be  a  thought  to  an  elderly  person 

So  keen,  so  inspiring — so  hard  to  forget — 

So  fully  adapted  to  break  into  verse  on 

As  this — that  the  steel  isn't  out  of  him  yet  ? 

That  flying  speed  tickles  one's  brain  with  a  feather; 

That  one's  horse  can  restore  one  the  years  that  are  gone 

That  spite  of  gray  winter  and  weariful  weather. 

The  blood  and  the  pace  carry  on,  carry  on  ! 

E.  St.  John  Tyewhitt, 

In  "Our  Sketching  Club." 


''  rOEMOSISSIMUS    ANNUS." 
Atjtumn,  1884. 

They  have  done  with  the  beans,  they  have  carried  the 

corn, 
The  white  Autumn  furrows  are  glittering  and  shorn ; 
The  seven-o'clock  sunshine  is  cloudless  and  clear, 
And  sweet  to  the  end  is  the  Beautiful  Year. 

The  Port  Meadow  turf  echoes  low  as  we  ride, 
And  light  is  the  gallop  by  Isis  her  side ; 
Down  float  on  her  waters,  more  scarlet  than  sere, 
The  sun-tinted  leaves  of  the  Beautiful  Tear. 

Black  rooks  and  grey  starlings  are  mustering  on  high, 
The  blue  heron  wings  over  with  desolate  cry; 
The  lapwings  they  whistle  and  wail  far  and  near; 
Are  they  sad  for  the  wane  of  the  Beautiful  Year  ? 


50 


Not  they — nor  we  either — in  Wytham  once  more 
The  O.  B.  are  out,  with  a  stout  cub  before ; 
Push  up  the  long  hill  thro'  the  cover,  and  hear 
Their  earliest  chime,  in  the  Beautiful  Year. 

Sweet  birds  and  light  leaves — ye  may  glitter  and  fly : 
We  send  a  sigh  after,  but  only  a  sigh  : 
Thy  death  has  a  beauty  that  casteth  out  fear 
With  hope  in  thine  ending,  O  Beautiful  Year. 

K.  St.  J.  T. 


HOW  WE   BEAT  THE  EAYOUEITE. 

*'  Ay,  Squire,"  said  George  Stevens,  "•  they  back  him  at 
evens — 

The  race  is  all  over  bar  shouting,  they  say  : 
The  Clown  ought  to  beat  her — Dick  Neville  is  sweeter 

Than  ever ;  he  swears  he  can  win  all  the  way." 

A  gentleman  rider !  well,  I'm  an  outsider ; 

But  if  he's  a  gent,  who  the  deuce  is  a  jock  ? 
Your  swells  mostly  blunder — Dick  rides  for  the  plunder ; 

He  rides,  too,  like  thunder — he  sits  like  a  rock. 

He  calls  *'  hunted  fairly  "  a  horse  that  has  barely 
Been  stripped  for  a  trot  within  sight  of  the  hounds ; 

A  horse  that  at  Warwick  beat  Birdlime  and  Torick, 
And  gave  Abdel  Kader  at  Aintree  nine  pounds. 

They  say  we  have  no  test  to  warrant  a  protest : 

Dick  rides  for  a  lord,  and  stands  in  with  a  steward. 

The  light  of  their  faces  they  show  him  his  case  is 
Prejudged,  and  his  verdict  already  secured. 


51 


But  none  can  outlast  her,  and  few  travel  faster ; 

She  strides  in  her  work  clean  away  from  "  the  Drag." 
You  hold  her  and  sit  her — she  couldn't  be  fitter — 

"Whenever  you  hit  her  she'll  spring  like  a  stag. 

And  perhaps  the  green  jacket,  tho'  at  odds  they  may 
back  it, 

May  fall,  or  there's  no  knowing  what  may  turn  up. 
The  mare  is  just  ready — sit  still  and  ride  steady ; 

Keep  cool,  and  I  think  you  may  just  win  the  cup. 

Dark  brown  with  tan  muzzle,  just  stripped  for  the  tuzzle. 
Stood  Iseult,  now  arching  her  neck  to  the  curb : 

A  lean  head  and  fiery,  strong  quarters  and  wiry ; 
A  loin  rather  light,  but  a  shoulder  superb. 

Some  parting  injunction,  bestowed  with  great  unction, 
I  tried  to  recall,  but  forgot  like  a  dunce, 

When  Eeginald  Murray,  full  tilt  on  White  Surrey, 
Came  down  in  a  hurry  to  start  us  at  once. 

"  Keep  back,  in  the  yellow ! "     ''  Come  up,  on  Othello  ! " 
"  Hold  hard,  on  the  chesnut !"    "  Turn  round  on  the 
Drag!"— 
"  Keep  back  there,  on  Spartan  !  "    "  Back  you,  sir,  in 
tartan !" 
"  So,  steady  there,  easy  !"  and  down  went  the  flag. 

We  started — and  Kerr  made  strong  running  on  Mermaid 
Through  furrows  that  led  to  the  first  stake  and  bound ; 

The  crack,  half  extended,  looked  blood-like  and  splendid, 
Held  wide  on  the  right,  where  the  headland  was  sound. 


52 


The  fourth  fence^a  wattle — floored  Monk  and  Blue- 
bottle— 

The  Drag  came  to  grief  at  the  black  thorn  and  ditch. 
The  rails  toppled  over  Redoubt  and  Eed  Eover — 

The  lane  stopped  Lycurgus  and  Leicestershire  Witch. 

She  passed  like  an  arrow  Kildare  and  Cock  Sparrow, 
And  Mantrap  and  Mermaid  refused  the  stone  wall ; 

And  Giles  on  the  Grayling  came  down  at  the  paling. 
And  I  was  left  sailing  in  front  of  them  all. 

I  took  them  a  burster — nor  eased  her,  nor  nursed  her 
Until  the  black  bullfinch  led  into  the  plough  ; 

And  thro'  the  strong  bramble  we  bored  with  a  scramble — 
My  cap  was  knocked  off  by  a  hazel  tree  bough. 

Where  furrows  looked  lighter  I  pulled  the  rein  tighter, 
The  dark  chest  all  dappled  with  flakes  of  white  foam ; 

The  flanks  mud  bespattered — a  weak  rail  we  shattered — 
We  land  on  the  turf  with  our  heads  turned  for  home. 

She  cracked  a  low  binder,  and  then  close  behind  her 
The  sward  to  the  hoofs  of  the  favourite  shook. 

His  rush  roused  her  mettle,  yet  ever  so  little — 
She  shortened  her  stride  as  we  raced  for  the  brook. 

She  rose  when  I  hit  her — I  saw  the  stream  glitter — 
A  wide  scarlet  nostril  pushed  close  to  my  knee. 

Between  sky  and  water  the  Clown  came  and  caught 
her, 
The  space  that  he  cleared  was  a  caution  to  see. 


53 


And  forcing  the  running,  discarding  all  cunning, 
A  length  to  the  front  went  the  rider  in  green. 

A  long  strip  of  stubble,  and  then  the  big  double — 
Two  stiff  flights  of  rails,  with  a  quickset  between. 

She  raced  at  the  rasper — I  felt  my  knees  grasp  her ; 

I  found  my  hands  give  to  the  strain  on  the  bit. 
She  rose  when  the  Clown  did — our  silks  as  we  bounded 

Brushed  lightly — our  stirrups  clashed  loops  as  we  hit. 

Arise,  steeply  sloping,  a  fence  with  stone  coping — 
The  last :  we  diverged  round  the  base  of  the  hill. 

His  path  was  the  nearer — his  leap  was  the  clearer — 
I  flogged  up  the  straight,  and  he  led  sitting  still. 

She  came  to  his  quarter,  and  on  still  I  brought  her, 
And  up  to  his  girths  and  his  breast-plate  she  drew, 

A  short  prayer  from  Neville  just  reached  me — "the 
devil ! " 
He  muttered — locked  level,  the  hurdles  we  flew. 

A  hum  of  hoarse  cheering — a  dense  crowd  careering — 
All  sights  seen  obscurely — all  shouts  vaguely  heard : 

"The  green  wins!"    "the   crimson!"    the   multitude 
swims  on: 
The  figures  are  blended — the  features  are  blurred. 

"  The  horse  is  her  master ! "  "  the  green  forges  past  her !" 
"  The  Clown  will  outlast  her — the  Clown  wins  !  the 
Clown ! " 

The  white  railing  races,  with  all  the  white  faces — 
The  chesnut  outpaces,  outstretches  the  brown  ! 


54 


On  still  past  tlie  gateway,  she  strains  in  tlie  straight- 
way— 
Still  struggles  the  "  Clown  by  a  short  neck  at  most :  " 
He  swerves  !  the  green  scourges — the  stand  rocks  and 

surges, 
And  flashes,  and  verges,  and  flits  the  white  post. 

Ay,  so  ends  the  struggle.     I  knew  the  tan  muzzle 

Was  first,  tho'  the  ring-men  were  yelling  dead  heat. 
A  nose  I  could  swear  by,  but  the  judge  said,  "  the  mare 

by 

A  short  head,"  and  that's  how  the  favourite  was  beat. 
From  Majoe  Paget  Mosley. 


NOTES  FEOM   WILL   STANSBT'S   DIAET   AT 
BADMINTON,  1843. 

Amongst  ye  changes  this  spring  are  ye  following : — 

April. — Te  East  Sussex  hounds  sold  for  debt.  Lord 
Ducie  bought  most  of  them,  and  gave  to  Lord  Giffard. 

The  first  whip  from  ye  Q^io™,  B.  Boothroyd,  goes 
as  huntsman  to  the  Marquis  of  Hastings,  succeeding 
Will  Derry,  who  goes  to  hunt  Lord  Southampton's, 
vice  Taylor. 

Charles  Treadwell  leaves  Mr.  Eobertson,  and  goes  to 
hunt  Earl  of  Harewood's. 

Mr.  Eobertson,  of  Lady  Kirk,  gives  up  ye  Northum- 
berland country,  and  sells  his  pack  to  Lord  Elcho,  who 
resigns  East  Lothian  to  hunt  ye  country  vacated  by 
Mr.  E.  in  Berwickshire.  I  hear  the  distemper  has 
been  very  favourable  with  Lord  Elcho  this  year,  not 


55 


having  yet  lost  one  young  hound.  They  put  forward 
22  couples. 

r.  Flint  leaves  Lord  Southampton  (first  whip),  and 
goes  to  hunt  the  Duke  of  Cleveland's  stag  hounds.  He 
lived  some  years  with  the  Duke  of  Eutland  as  first  whip, 
and  left  on  Goosey's  retirement  from  ye  post  of  hunts- 
man, and  Goodall's  (Wm.)  promotion  from  second 
whip  to  Groosey's  place,  in  ye  spring,  1842. 

The  ]S"orfolk  hounds  given  up  this  spring  through 
scarcity  of  foxes  and  want  of  support. 

Lord  Portman  gives  up  his  "  wee  "  pack,  which  are 
bought  by  Earl  Shannon  to  hunt  in  Ireland,  in  addition 
to  what  he  bought  of  Lord  Bruce,  and  hunted  in 
Ireland  with  last  season.  Thos.  Bown  went  to  him  last 
season  as  huntsman,  or  rather  latter  end  of  ye  summer. 
He  had  lived  with  Sir  Thomas  Stanley. 

Mr.  Cockburn  gives  up  ye  Tiverton  country  (Devon), 
and  takes  ye  Kursley  country,  Hants. 

Charles  Bridges  goes  from  Badminton  as  second  whip 
to  the  Duke  of  Eutland. 

The  past  season,  the  Heythrop  hounds  had  most 
excellent  sport.  Captain  Anstey  told  William  Long, 
in  my  hearing,  that  it  was  worth  any  two  seasons  he 
ever  remembered  to  have  seen. 

Earl  Eitzhardinge's  killed  76|  brace  of  foxes;  but 
Harry  Ayris  told  me  they  had  not  a  succession  of  sport; 
in  short,  that  it  was  with  them  a  very  indifi'erent  season. 
More  blood  I  never  heard  tell  of  any  one  pack  getting 
in  one  season. 

William  Todd,  at  ye  beginning  of  ye  past  season, 
went  to  Sir  Ilichard  Sutton  as  huntsman,  on  Shirley 
giving  up,  and  Sir  Eichard  taking  ye  Cottesmore 
country.  He,  however,  soon  left,  and  went  back  to  Mr. 
Harvey  Coombe  (whose  hounds  he  had  been  hunting  in 


56 


the  old  Berkeley  coimtry)  as  groom.  Sir  Richard  had 
a  very  unfavourable  season  indeed.  Great  complaints. 
I  saw  a  letter  from  Mr.  Gilmour  to  John  Campbell, 
Esq.,  of  Glensaddel,  wherein  he  says  the  hounds  seldom 
find  their  fox,  but  are  daily  halloo'd  to  them  after  draw- 
ing the  coverts  ;  instancing  one  day  in  particular,  when 
they  drew  Woodall  Head,*  a  very  favourite  covert, 
without  finding.  On  leaving  it  they  were  halloo'd  back, 
a  fox  having  been  viewed  in  ye  covert.  On  their  taking 
to  ye  scent,  a  brace  more,  making  a  leash,  were  proved 
to  be  there.     "This,"  says  he,  "occurs  daily." 

Mr.  Campbell,  after  hunting  with  the  Duke  of 
Beaufort,  at  whose  house  he  stayed  ye  season,  sold  his 
stud  of  eight  horses  at  Tattersall's,  excepting  that  rare 
old  horse  Paganini,  which  was  taken  back  to  Scotland, 
and  afterwards  sold  to  J.  O.  Tairlie,  Esq. 

Eriday,  September  9th,  1842. — Duke  of  Beaufort's 
hounds. — Killcott.  Ye  morning  very  wet  and  stormy. 
Went  home  at  nine  o'clock.  At  half-past  ten  went  out 
on  ye  lawn  with  22|  couple  fresh  hounds,  to  draw  Swan 
Grove,  ye  Duke,  Prince  Leichtenstein,  and  several 
foreigners,  being  at  Badminton.  Te  day  turned  out 
very  wet;  and  as  it  was  intended  for  a  day  for  ye 
Princess  and  ladies,  postponed  till  ye  morrow. 

Saturday,  Sept.  10th,  1842.— Met  on  ye  lawn  22^ 
couple.  Went  to  Swan  Grove.  Found  a  brace  of 
mangy  foxes ;  had  some  little  running  backwards  and 
for\^ards,  and  finally  killed  one  in  ye  gorse  by  Eagged 
Castle.  Went  to  Bodkin  Wood.  Eound  at  least  3 
brace  of  cubs ;  killed  a  brace  in  covert ;  went  away  with 
a  third  over  ye  corner  of  ye  Park  piece  to  Badminton 
Village,  by  ye  green  pond  into  ye  Vicarage,  nearly  to 


Woodwell  Head. 


57 


ye  pleasure  ground ;  got  in  ye  ditch,  jumped  out  in 
view,  and  soon  killed.  Three  couple  of  hounds  had 
been  left  at  Bodkin  Wood.  James  Watts,  the  feeder, 
got  them  away.  Met  a  fox  in  Mr.  Sydney's  turnips. 
Erankfort  seized  and  nearly  killed  him ;  took  him  home 
alive.  A  single  hound,  aided  by  numerous  bipeds, 
caught  another  in  ye  Park  piece,  whilst  trying  to  get  in 
a  drain.  Sent  him  back  sound  to  Bodkin  Wood.  This 
was  an  eventful  and  butchering  day.  Prince  Leichten- 
steinand  Princess, Count  Esterhazy,  Baron  Nieuman,  &c., 
out.  I  thought  ye  Princess  Leichtenstein  the  finest 
woman  I  ever  saw,  and  handsome  withal. 

Wednesday,  January  11th,  1843. — Iron  Acton. 
Eighteen  couple  dogs.  Draw'd  Parsons  Wood,  ye 
Marl  Pits,  &c.  No  fox.  Came  on  to  Tate  Eocks ; 
drew  ye  Coombe,  and  both  Brinsham  coverts,  and 
Maple  rudge.  No  fox.  Got  on  a  scent  in  Bays ;  hunted 
over  ye  Broad  Trench ;  got  up  to  a  brace  of  foxes  in 
Horton  side.  Hounds  divided  for  a  few  minutes  ;  got 
together,  recrossed  ye  Trench,  thro'  Bays  and  Bed- 
fords  ;  very  quick  over  ye  brook,  and  up  ye  hill  nearly 
to  ye  turnpike  road,  to  ye  left  by  Bird's  Bush,  crossing 
ye  road  by  Mr.  Goodwyn's  into  ye  vale  below ;  bore  to 
ye  left  thro'  the  Coombe,  and  over  ye  \rood  again  by 
ye  lime  kiln  at  Yate  Bocks,  skirting  ye  lesser  Brinsham 
covert,  to  ye  Maple  rudge  bushes  ;  to  ye  right  and  away, 
at  a  good  pace,  across  ye  vale  under  Horton,  nearly  to 
Chalkley ;  bore  a  little  to  ye  right,  leaving  ye  old  man- 
sion and  Horton  Church  close  on  ye  right ;  up  ye  hill, 
thro'  ye  Walk  Wood,  and  on  for  Bodkin  Hazle, 
running  ye  green  lane  nearly  to  ye  end  of  ye  covert, 
just  entered,  and  away  over  ye  Bath  road,  thro' 
Bodkin  Wood,  and  on  towards  Little  Badminton; 
bore  to  the  left,  pointing  for  Swan  Grove,  was  headed. 


58 


back  touching  Bodkin  Wood,  near  Petty  France,  and 
back  thro'  ye  Hazle.  I  viewed  him  from  hence,  some 
distance,  apparently  in  difficulty — ye  hounds  follow- 
ing steadily  thro'  ye  covert  on  his  line,  did  not  get 
so  quick  away  as  I  could  have  wished.  On  leaving 
Chalkley  on  ye  left,  into  ye  vale  again,  when  we  had  a 
check  of  two  or  three  minutes,  hit  off,  and  went  a  good 
pace  over  ye  lower  end  of  Hawkesbury  Common  into 
Littley,  and  up  ye  woods  to  ye  further  end  of  Maple 
rudge,  back  along  ye  covert  towards  Bays.  1  here 
viewed  ye  fox  away,  and  was  damped  to  find  we  had 
changed  our  fox ;  hunted  down  into  Bays,  and  stopped 
ye  hounds.  Yery  good  day's  sport — worth  1000  o£  your 
10,  19,  or  15  minutes'  skurries  to  a  lover  of  hunting. 
Mr.  Campbell,  Mr.  J.  Bailey,  and  Mr.  R.  Kingscote 
went  as  well  or  rather  better  than  any  other ;  Mr. 
Campbell  screaming  in  raptures  as  we  got  near  Bodkin 
Hazle.  Blood  only  was  wanting  to  render  this  run  all 
that  could  be  wished  by  a  sportsman. 


C.(Chas.  Bridges) 
Gamecock 
Miss  Tree 


(Long)  L.  (Stansby)  S. 

Milkman  Marion 

Archduke  Etonian 

1845. — This  season  we  have  an  addition  to  our 
country  of  Stoke  Gilford  coverts,  &c.,  conceded  by  Earl 
Eitzhardinge.  Though  some  of  them  ye  Duke  of  Beau- 
fort's property,  they  have  been  hitherto  a  part  of  ye 
Berkeley  hunt.  Eood  Ashton,  near  Troubridge,  also 
belonging  to  Walter  Long,  Esq.,  and  hitherto  hunted 
by  Mr.  Horlock,  is  now  to  be  hunted  by  the  Duke  of 
Beaufort. 

There  was  an  immense  quantity  of  corn  grown  this 
year.  The  spring  was  everything  that  could  be  desired ; 
crops  most  luxuriant;  in  fact,  I  believe  most  people 
will  admit  that  they  never  remember  to  have  seen  the 


59 


land  so  heavily  covered  with  both  hay  and  corn.  Ye 
early  hay  harvest  was  good,  but  the  July  month  was 
very  wet  and  cold,  and  also  the  first  week  in  August ; 
and  there  is  yet  (although  ye  bulk  of  corn  is  housed  in 
ye  best  possible  condition)  a  good  deal  of  wheat  and 
barley  not  only  in  ye  field,  but  uncut.  (September  23rd.) 
Beans  are  famous  crops.  Nuts  plentiful ;  acorns  scarce. 
Potatoes  infested  with  a  disease  throughout  ye  country, 
and  ye  price  of  corn  kept  up  in  consequence. 

When  I  was  a  lad  in  the  stables  at  Calke,  in 
1817,  1818,  1819,  on  the  door  of  a  passage, 
in  the  N.E.  corner  of  the  stable  yard,  were 
the  jDlates  of  several  race-horses  nailed  to  the  door,  and 
a  name  under  each.  I  think  there  were  five  of  them. 
I  remember  one  of  Dairymaid,  one  of  Mixbury,  one  of 
Juniper,  and  one  of  the  famous  Skewball.  The  names 
were  cut  in  the  wood,  apparently  with  a  knife ;  and  I 
fancied  these  horses  must  have  stood  in  this  stable,  and 
belonged  to  the  Sir  Harry  Harpur,  Bart.,  of  that  day ;  and 
I  used  to  look  on  the  plates  with  considerable  interest, 
and  longed  to  know  something  about  them.  Many 
years  after,  and  far  away  from  Calke,  I  heard  several 
times  a  doggerel  song  in  praise  of  Skewball.  I  used 
to  listen  to  it  attentively,  as  it  recalled  to  my  memory 
the  plate  with  his  name  on  the  old  door  where  I  strapped 
many  an  hour  with  a  wet  shirt.  Since  then  I  found  the 
following  in  the  Sporting  Magazine  of  May,  1834 : — 
"Skewball  foaled  in  1741.  Bred  by  the  Earl  of 
Grodolphin.  Sold  to  Sir  Harry  Harpur,  Bart.,  at  whose 
death  he  was  purchased  by  Lord  Eobert  Sutton 
Manners.  His  next  master  was  Mr.  Elston,  who  dis- 
posed of  him  to  Arthur  Mervin,  Esq.,  who  raced  him  in 
Ireland,  where  he  beat  Sir  Ealph  Gore's  grey  mare  by 


60 


Victorious  over  the  Curragh  of  Kildare  for  300  guineas 
each,  and  was  also  the  winner  of  a  great  number  of  plates 
and  prizes. 


June,  1843. — William  Collins,  of  Badminton,  labourer, 
aged  83  years,  hearty,  having  the  use  of  all  his  faculties, 
and  working  on  ye  road,  tells  me  he  can  remember 
when  foxes  were  destroyed  at  Badminton,  ye  keepers 
being  paid  for  it ;  that  ye  Duke  of  that  day  kept  stag 
hounds  and  harriers,  and  that  the  deer  were  penned  at 
Oldham-on-the-Hill.  That  he  remembers  all  ye  hunts- 
men, as  under : — 

Baldwin      ) 

Wilts  J-      Stag  hounds,  &c. 

Hellier        J 
Crane  (began  keeping  foxhounds — a  heavy  man). 
Kench.  Alderton.  Dilworth. 

Philip  Payne.  William  Long. 

Then  followed  the  8th  Duke  of  Beaufort  and  William 
Stansby,  Thomas  Clarke  in  1858,  and  left  somewhat 
suddenly  before  the  close  of  the  season  1867 — 1868. 
The  Marquis  of  Worcester  then  took  the  horn. 


^<f. 


61 


A   LEGEND    OE    GALWAY. 

Erom  tlie  gorse  of  Ahascragli*  the  hounds  broke  away, 
"With  the  "  grey  fox  "  on  foot  and  a  warm  scenting  day. 
The  cracks  of  Roscommon  are  here,  and  they  swear. 
Come  life  or  come  death,  to  beat  Valentine  Maher.  f 

He's  last  thro'  the  clay  and  the  deep  of  the  vale, 
Not  seen  at  the  gap  in  the  third  post  and  rail ; 
And,  still  with  the  lead,  the  Boscommons  ask,  "  where 
Is  the  pride  of  your  country,  bold  Valentine  Maher  1 " 

Then,  smiling  aside,  the  old  huntsman  spoke  low, 

'*  With  the  grey  fox  on  foot  we've  a  day's  work  to  do ; 

You'll  have  nerves  of  the  strongest,  nor  steel  must  you 

spare 
If  you  ride  to  the  finish  with  Valentine  Maher." 

All  the  while  his  hot  chestnut  was  chafing  in  vain, 
Till  the  foam  from  her  nostrils  speck'd  breastplate  and  rein 
But  cool,  as  at  first,  "  take  your  time,  never  care ; 
We'll  catch  'em  yet,  Kathleen,"  said  Valentine  Maher. 


*  Ahascragh,  Lord  Clonbrock's  place  in  Galway. 

"  Many  thanks  for  sending  me  the  Legend  of  Galway.  The  lines  read 
very  spirited,  and  make  one  fancy  a  bygone  delusion,  viz.,  chancing  it  at  a 
rasper.  Valentme  Maher  carries  me  back  to  the  days  of  my  childhood. 
I  recollect  so  well  when  he  came  to  stay  with  my  father  at  Stapleford,  and 
after  that  he  came  to  Glaston  on  his  way  to  Newmarket,  making  his  journey 
to  the  turf  metropolis  on  foot. 

"  Sir  Thomas  Whichcote,  Jan.,  1884." 

+ Valentine  Maher,  of  Turtulla,  Co.  Tipperary,  and  M.P.  for  that  County. 
Born  1780  ;  died  1844,  unmarried. 

"One  of  the  leading  men  on  these  occasions  (viz.,  "larking")  is  Mr. 
Maher,  a  brilliant  performer  with  hounds  ;  but  without  hounds,  in  Leicester- 
shire, few  men  have  a  chance  with  him,  from  his  perfect  knowledge  of  the 
country.  On  the  Widmerpool  day,  of  which  I  have  been  speaking,  he  led  about 
a  dozen  of  them  a  dance  ot  upwards  of  nine  miles,  over  a  beautiful  country, 
in  little  more  than  half  an  hour."— Nimrod,  in  Sporting  Magazine,  1825. 


62 


They  near'd  the  Black  Kiver,  they  heard  its  dull  roar — 
They  mark'd  the  thick  mist-wreaths  that  brood  on  its 

shore ; 
When  his  laugh,  close  behind  them,   rang  cheery  and 

clear — 
"  Here's  food  for  the  fishes,"  quoth  Valentine  Maher. 

While  they  stood  on  the  bank,  and  the  boldest  held 

breath 
As  he  gazed  on  the  torrent,  three  fathoms  beneath ; 
When  the  best  of  E/Oscommon  drew  rein  in  despair, 
With  a  rush  to  the  front  came  Valentine  Maher. 

He  called  upon  Kathleen — one  snort  and  one  spring, 
She  clove  thro'  the  air  like  a  swallow  on  wing. 
He  turn'd  in  his  saddle — "  now,  follow  who  dare  ! 
I  ride  for  my  country,"  quoth  Valentine  Maher. 

The  hounds  left  the  valley — they  strain'd  up  the  hill — 
But  one  rider  remains,  and  he  sticks  to  them  still. 
They  check'd  on  the  brow  of  Kilconnel,  and  there. 
To  turn  them  and  cast  them,  was  Valentine  Maher. 

Where  the  coverts  of  pine  over  A.thenry  frown. 
Within  one  mile  of  home,  the  grey  fox  was  pulled  down ; 
And  rock,  hill,  and  valley  sent  back  the  death  cheer. 
As  they  rang  to  the  halloo  of  Valentine  Maher. 

So  we'll  drink  with  nine  cheers  to  the  old  county's  breed — 
To  the  blood  in  the  veins  of  both  rider  and  steed ; 
And  here's,  "  The  next  time  that  Roscommon  shall  dare 
Go  straight  across  Gal  way  with  Valentine  Maher  !" 

Atjthoji  of  "Gut  Livingstone." 


63 

THE  LOVER'S  LEAP. 

Quid  Fcemina  Possit. 

Well,  tliougli  I  love  not  boasting, 

Sith  all  will  have  it  so, 
You  shall  hear  how  we  left  the  field  behind 

A  score  of  years  ago. 

Time  will  unclasp  his  fetters, 

And  age  grow  young  once  more, 
When  we  think  of  all  that  was  dared  and  done 

In  the  mad  days  of  yore. 

But,  first  fill  up  another  cup 

Till  o'er  the  mantled  brim. 
Sweet  as  the  dew  of  a  red  ripe  lip, 

The  glittering  bubbles  swim  : 

"To  the  loving  and  the  lov'd"  we'll  drink, 

"  The  frank,  the  kind,  the  bold ; 
To  all  warm  living  hearts,  and  those 

That  never  till  death  were  cold." 

'Twas  a  dull  November  morning. 

South  wind  and  cloudy  sky. 
When,  if  scent  were  ever  certain, 

A  fox  was  doom'd  to  die. 

We  met  at  Bolton  Thicket, 

That  never  blank  was  drawn ; 
Eresh  lies  the  scene  before  me  now 

As  it  were  but  yester'-morn. 


64 


Ten  acres  of  copse,  on  a  gentle  slope, 

By  a  belt  of  gorse  surrounded ; 
All  grass,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach, 

By  the  low,  blue  hill-line  bounded. 

That  day  my  mount  was  Thunderbolt, 

Of  black  Prunella's  breed, 
Who,  thro'  toil  and  peril  never  yet 

Had  fail'd  me  at  my  need ; 
With  strength  for  the  deep,  and  wind  for  the  down. 

With  a  racing  turn  of  speed. 

Ere  long  a  challenge  and  a  cheer 

Came  floating  down  the  wind, 
'Twas  Mermaid's  note,  and  the  huntsman's  voice — 

We  knew  it  was  a  find. 
The  dull  air  woke  as  from  a  trance, 

As  sixty  hounds  joined  chorus  ; 
And  away  we  went,  with  a  stout  dog  fox 

Not  a  furlong's  length  before  us. 

A  quiver  shot  through  my  strong  horse 

I'rom  his  hoof  to  his  swelling  crest, 
As  a  stout  ship  thrusts  the  waves  aside, 

Thro'  the  meaner  crowd  he  prest. 
Till  he  took  the  place  that  was  his  by  right, 

And  we  settled  down  in  the  foremost  flight 
To  hold  our  own  with  the  best. 

The  sight  of  a  hound  or  the  sound  of  a  horn 

Warms  my  old  blood  even  now, 
And  this  was  when  the  tide  of  youth 

Ran  foaming  at  its  flow — 
No  trifle  in  those  merry  days 

Turn'd  me  and  my  peers  I  trow  ! 


65 


Yet  a  shudder,  such  as  cowards  feel, 
Thro'  my  very  marrow  crept, 

When  I  saw  a  feuce  that  cross'd  our  line, 
As  down  the  hill  we  swept : 

And  well  the  firmest  cheek  might  blanch, 

The  sternest  courage  fail 
At  the  bullfinch,  with  its  yawning  drain, 

A  deep  drop  iuto  a  stony  lane, 
And  a  four-foot  oaken  rail. 

Each  look'd  on  each,  till  thus  spoke  out 

The  Nestor  of  our  band, 
A  veteran  of  war  and  chase 

Who  rode  at  my  right  hand  : 

"  The  churl  who  yonder  man-trap  laid 

By  an  ill-death  may  he  fall ! 
If  the  fox  has  headed  across  the  road 

The  hounds  will  leave  us  all ; 
!For  a  tougher  brush  it  were  to  face 

Ton  blackthorn's  venomed  spears. 
Than  ever  we  had  in  the  olden  time 

With  Kellermann's  cuirassiers. 

In  the  pasture  just  below  us 

A  knot  of  gazers  stood, 
Whose  eyes  had  never  left  us 

Since  we  broke  from  Bolton  Wood. 
The  best  blood  of  two  counties 

Made  up  that  bright  array, 
And  there  the  queen  of  all  our  hearts 

Sate  on  her  fiery  grey. 


(16 


Hither  and  thither  rode  the  field. 

Seeking  an  easier  place — 
I,  too,  had  turned  me,  when  I  met 

My  mistress  face  to  face  : 
I  bounded  in  my  seat  like  one 

Death-stricken  thro'  the  brain — 
Sweet  wife  !  the  bliss  of  after  years 

Scarce  paid  that  instant's  pain. 

There  was  scorn  upon  her  curling  lip, 

In  her  dark  eyes  angry  flame, 
On  the  marble  of  her  polish 'd  brow 

Red  rose  the  flush  of  shame. 

The  veriest  dastard  had  grown  brave 

There — face  to  face  with  her  : 
I  bit  my  lip  through  as  I  wheel'd, 

And  drove  home  either  spur. 

Sprang  to  the  steel  old  Thunderbolt, 

And  snorted  savagely ; 
The  blood-gouts  dripp'd  from  his  dusky  sides 

Like  rain  from  a  low'ring  sky : 
I  felt  .as  I  rusli'd  him  at  the  fence 

He  was  as  wild  as  I. 

Then  came,  too  late,  a  warning  shriek, 

And  then  such  crackling  sound 
As  echoes  through  a  burning  house 

When  beams  are  splint'ring  round. 

But  o'er  crash  and  cry,  rose  clear  and  high 
The  voice  well  loved  and  known, 

Though  not  a  silver  note  was  strain'd — 
*'  O  Charlie  !  bravely  done.'' 


Of  six  score  men,  there  was  but  one 

To  follow  where  I  led — 
Good  faith !  his  daring  cost  him  dear, 

For  as  I  turn'd  my  head, 
He  was  writhing  'neath  his  mare,  who  lay 

With  a  broken  neck,  stone  dead. 

No  time  to  pause,  for  over  the  meads 
v\  e  swept,  with  a  scent  breast-high; 

Six  more  good  miles  we  carried  it  on, 
The  brave  bitch  pack  and  I. 

And  when  we  turned  him  up,  my  cheer. 

Borne  on  the  rising  wind. 
Came  faintly  to  the  nearmost  ear, 

A  long  half  league  behind. 

'Twas  a  cold  November  evening, 

And  the  homeward  way  was  dreary ; 

For  a  score  of  miles  before  us  lay. 
And  man  and  horse  were  weary. 

But  my  heart  was  warm  as  I  thought  of  the  smile 

That  my  return  would  greet, 
When  she  heard  the  story  of  the  day, 

With  its  trophy  at  her  feet. 


Atjthoe  of  "  Guy  Livingstone." 


68 


THE   CHAELTON   HUNT. 

Some  years  since,  in  an  old  farm-lionse  at  Euntington, 
in  West  Sussex,  a  precious  document  was  discovered, 
relating  to  the  Charlton  Hunt,  and  consisting  of  a  man- 
uscript account  of  a  run  with  the  hounds.  Commencing 
with  a  heading,  it  is  as  follows  : — 

"A  rULL  AND  IMPARTIAL  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  31EMAEKABLE 

CHASE  AT  Charlton,  on  Eridat,  26th  Jan.,  1738. 

"  Present  in  the  morning :  the  Duke  of  Eichmond, 
the  Duchess  of  Eichmond,  Duke  of  St.  Albans,  Lord 
Harcourt,the  Lord  Henry  Beauclerk,  the  Lord  Ossulston, 
Sir  Harry  Liddell,  Brigadier  Henry  Hawley,  Ralph 
Jennison,  Master  of  His  Majesty's  buckhounds,  Edward 
Pauncefoot,  Esq.,  William  Earquhar,  Esq.,  Cornet  Philip 
Honey  wood,  Eichard  Biddulph,  Esq.,  Charles  Biddulph, 
Esq.,  Mr.  St.  Paul,  Mr.  Johnson,  Billy  Ives,  yeoman 
pricker  to  His  Majesty's  hounds,  David  Briggs  and 
Mnn  Ives,  whippers-in. 

"  At  a  quarter  before  eight  in  the  morning  the  fox 
was  found  in  East  Dean  Wood,  and  ran  an  hour  in  that 
cover,  then  in  the  Eorest  up  to  Puntice  Copse,  through 
Heringdean  to  the  Marlows,  to  Covey  Coppice,  back  to 
the  Marlows,  to  the  Eorest  West  Gate,  over  the  Holds 
to  Nightingale  Bottom,  to  Cobden's  Draught,  up  his 
Pine  Pit  Hanger,  where  his  Grace  of  St.  Albans  got  a 
fall;  through  West  Dean  Eorest  to  the  corner  of  Collar 
Down  (where  Lord  Harcourt  blew  his  first  horse), 
crossed  the  Hackney-place  Down,  the  length  of  Colney 
Coppice,  through  the  Marlows  to  Heringdean,  into  the 
Eorest  and  Puntice  Coppice,  East  Dean  Wood,  through 
the  lower  Teglease,  across   by  Cocking   Course,  down 


69 


between  Graffham  and  Woolavington ;  through  Mr. 
Orme's  park  and  paddock,  over  the  heath  to  Fielding's 
Furzes,  to  the  Hurlands,  Selham,  Ambersham,  through 
Todham  Furzes,  over  Todham  Heath,  almost  to  Cow- 
dray  Park,  there  turned  to  the  limeldln  at  the  end  of 
Cocking  Causeway,  through  Cocking  Park  and  Furzes, 
there  crossed  the  road,  and  up  the  hills  between  Bepton 
and  Cocking.  Here  the  unfortunate  Lord  Harcourt's 
second  horse  felt  the  effects  of  long  legs  and  a  sudden 
steep.  The  best  thing  that  belonged  to  him  was  his 
saddle,  which  my  lord  had  secured ;  but  by  bleeding 
and  Geneva  (contrary  to  Act  of  Parhament),  he  re- 
covered, and  was  with  some  difficulty  got  home.  Here 
Mr.  Farquhar's  humanity  claims  your  regard,  who 
kindly  sympathised  with  my  lord  in  his  misfortunes,  and 
had  not  powder  to  go  beyond  him.  At  the  bottom  of 
Cocking  Warren  the  hounds  turned  to  the  left,  across 
the  road,  by  the  barn,  near  Heringdean,  then  took  the 
side  to  the  north  gate  of  the  Forest  (here  General 
Hawley  thought  it  prudent  to  change  his  horse  for  a  true 
blue  that  staid  up  the  hills.  Billy  Ives  also  took  a  horse 
of  Sir  Harry  Liddell) ;  went  quite  through  the  Forest ; 
went  through  the  Warren  above  West  Dean  (where  we 
dropped  Sir  Harry  Liddell),  through  Goodwood  Park 
(here  the  Duke  of  Richmond  chose  to  send  three  lame 
horses  back  to  Charlton,  and  took  Saucy  Face  and  Sir 
William,  that  were  luckily  at  Goodwood ;  from  there, 
at  a  distance,  Lord  Harry  was  seen  driving  his  horse 
before  him  to  Charlton).  The  hounds  went  out  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  park,  over  Strettington  road,  by  Scaly 
Coppice  (where  his  Grace  of  Eichmond  got  a  summerset), 
through  Halnaker  Park,  over  Halnaker  Hill,  to  Seabeach 
Farm  (here  the  master  of  the  staghounds,  Cornet 
Honeywood,    Tom    Johnson,    and    Mnn    Ives,  were 


70 


thoroughly  satisfied),  up  Long  Down,  through  Eartham 
Common  i'ields,and  Kemp's  HighWoods  (here  Billy  Ives 
hired  his  second  horse,  and  took  Sir  AVilliam,  by  which 
the  Duke  of  St.  Albans  had  no  greatcoat,  so  returned  to 
Charlton).  From  Kemp's  High  Wood  the  hounds  took 
away  through  Gun  worth  Warren,  Kent  Eough  Piece, 
over  Slindon  down  to  Madehurst  Parsonage  (where 
Billy  came  in  with  them),  over  Poor  Down  up  to  Made- 
hurst, then  down  to  Houghton  Porest,  where  his  Grace 
o£  Eichmond,  General  Hawley,  and  Mr.  Pouncefoot 
came  in  (the  latter  to  little  purpose,  for,  beyond  the 
E,ace  Hill,  neither  Mr.  Pauncefoot  nor  his  horse,  Tinker, 
cared  to  go,  so  wisely  returned  to  his  impatient  friends) ; 
up  the  Race  Hill,  left  Sherwood  on  the  right  hand, 
crossed  Offham  Hill  to  South  wood ;  from  thence  to  South 
Stoke,  to  the  wall  of  Arundel  Kiver,  where  the  glorious 
twenty-three  hounds  put  an  end  to  the  campaign,  and 
killed  an  old  bitch  fox,  ten  minutes  before  six.  Billy 
Ives,  his  Grace  of  Bichmond,  and  General  Hawley,  were 
the  only  persons  in  at  the  death,  to  the  immortal  honour 
of  seventeen  stone,  and  at  least  as  many  campaigns." 

The  Charlton  Hunt  came  to  an  end,  and  the  kennel 
was  removed  for  a  short  time  to  Goodwood,  afterwards 
to  Petworth,  whose  owner,  Lord  Leconfield;  is  still  the 
M.F.H.  of  his  locality. 

H.  E.    I]!^    "  FOEESTEY." 


HUNTING  SONG   FOE  THE  TEAK  1824. 

I  am  a  jolly  huntsman,  and  rise  before  'tis  day; 
Let  loose  my  dogs,  and  mount  my  horse,  and  halloo 
come  away. 

And  a  hunting  we  will  go. 


71 


Of  all  our  fond  diversions  a  hunter's  is  the  best ; 

In  spite  of  wars  and  party  jars  the  sport  is  to  the  test. 

Brisk  action  cures  the  vapours,  th'  elFects  of  lazy  sloth, 
And  music  makes  us  cheerful,  so  hunting 's  good  for  both. 

Of  Nimrod  and  of  Esau  what  mighty  feats  they  tell — 
On  foot  they  followed  hunting,  they  loved  the  sport  so 
well. 

Had  Dido  not  loved  hunting,  the  amorous  Trojan  brave 
Her  Highness  ne'er  had  solaced  in  Juno's  friendly  cave. 

Eurypides  !  had  hunting  been  minded  like  thy  books 
The   hounds  had  ne'er  devoured  thee — they  know   a 
sportsman's  looks ; 

And  hadst  thou,  brave  ActEeon,  have  minded  but  thy  game , 
Thou  ne'er  hadst  paid  so  dearly  for  peeping  at  the  same. 

Orion,  foolish  hunter,  lured  by  a  petticoat. 

In  the  mid  chase  he  loitered,  and  so  his  fate  he  got. 

But  after  this  disaster  he 's  made  a  heavenly  sign, 
That  he  at  least  may  view  the  sport  he  can  no  longer  join. 

The  British  King 's*  a  hunter,  and  frequent  in  the  chase ; 
He  minds  no  more  than  we  do  a  weather-beaten  face. 

Then  fill  your  sparkling  glasses,  and  take  them  off  with 

glee— 

"  Here  "s  to   all    brother    sportsmen,   in    course    His 

Majesty."  a    j     i      .. 

And  a  hunting  we  will  go. 

Sporting  Magazine,  1825. 

*  King  George  the  Third. 


72 


A   EUN  WJTH   THE   S.  O., 
And  a  woed  on  Paesons  hunting. 

It  was,  I  believe,  in  November,  1873,  (when  I  was 
clergyman  at  Albury,  and  possessed  of  an  old  roaring 
dun  mare,  a  capital  fencer,  but  not  particularly  fast,) 
that  the  hounds  met  at  the  Three  Pigeons,  one  of  their 
Monday  meets.  It  was  in  my  parish,  and  I  always  went 
to  the  meet  when  they  met  in  the  parish. 

We  had  a  little  run  in  the  morning,  and  about  one 
o'clock  got  away  with  a  big  fox  from  Fernhill,  a  cover 
which  was  just  opposite  my  house,  and  had  some  strong 
earths.  I  knew  this  old  fox,  having  seen  him  about  on 
the  glebe.  The  foxes  used  to  come  all  round  my  house. 
I  have  had  them  after  the  fowl  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
middle  of  the  day — the  fowl  all  flying  on  the  roof  of  the 
house — and  quite  late  in  the  day.  There  was  a  fox  in 
the  stable  yard  one  evening  about  eight  o'clock.  I 
generally  had  a  litter  in  my  own  plantation  near  the 
church.  The  big  fox  crossed  the  rail  close  under  Albury, 
across  the  Draycot  and  Waterstock  Meadows,  crossed 
the  river  Thames  under  Waterperry  House  (Mr. 
Henley's) — the  field  crossing  by  Waterstock  Bridge — 
and  so  into  Waterperry  Wood,  by  Park  Farm ;  crossed 
the  road  into  Hell  Copse,  and  so  into  the  quarters. 
I  went  down  to  the  corner  of  the  big  wood,  Shabbing- 
ton  Wood,  towards  Worminghall  village,  and  while 
standing  there  with  Mr.  Bull,  of  Albury,  saw  something 
go  away  two  fields  off".  I  rode  as  hard  as  I  could  for  a 
better  view,  but  though  I  was  almost  sure  it  was  a  fox, 
dare  not  halloa  without  being  certain.  After  waiting 
about  ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  hounds 
came  down  on  his  line — the  field  soon  got  round  after 


the  hounds,  for  we  got  away  very  slowly,  the  fox  having 
been  gone  so  long,  and  well  we  did ;  for,  after  crossing 
the  Oakley  and  Worminghall  road,  the  fences  were  very 
big,  one  or  two  being  boreable  and  not  jiimpable;  but 
alter  leaving  Oakley  on  the  left,  the  scent  improved  in 
the  big  grass  meadows  under  Brill,  and  we  had  to  gallop 
to  keep  with  hounds.  What  beautiful  meadows  those 
are !  We  crossed  the  Chilton  and  Dorton  road,  close  to 
Dorton,  and  down  to  the  Chearsley  brook,  where  there 
Y^as  a  good  deal  of  grief.  I  and  three  others  were  riding 
rather  wide  on  the  right,  and  we  had  it  at  a  good  place. 
George  Castle  first,  Lady  Adelaide  Parker  second,  a 
man  on  a  cob  third,  and  I  fourth.  I  could  see  it  was 
something  big  by  the  way  George  Castle  and  Lady 
Adelaide  went  at  it.  My  dear  old  father  got  in  higher 
up  on  Baronet,  an  old  horse  he  had  bought  of  Lord 
Macclesfield,  and  which  Lady  Adelaide  rode  for  six  sea- 
sons ;  and  he  then  had  a  post  rail,  which  he  rode  at  three 
times  before  he  got  over.  Colonel  Ruck  Keene  told  me 
afterwards  that  he  halloed  to  my  father,  "  I  hope  I  shall 
ride  like  that  when  I  am  your  age."  And  so  to 
Chearsley  Gorse,  where  we  did  not  check  above  two  or 
three  minutes ;  back  over  almost  the  same  line  to  the 
brook — but  this  time  nearer  the  bridge  to  Chearsley 
village — which  I  believe  nearly  all  went  over,  and  then 
up  the  hill  to  Chilton  village  very  fast,  the  hounds 
almost  racing  away  from  us.  1  remember  going  up  one 
fence,  looking  for  a  weak  place,  but  it  kept  getting 
bigger,  and  at  last  I  turned  at  it  in  despair,  my  father 
following.  He  said  afterwards  it  was  a  very  big  place. 
We  checked  at  Chilton  village  for  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  ran  on  to  Chinkwell  Wood,  under  Brill  Hill,  where 
they  lost  him,  going  to  ground,  I  think. 


74 


The  distance  from  the  woods  was  not  so  very  great, 
and  we  may  very  likely  have  changed  in  them ;  but  the 
hounds  never  ceased  running  after  leaving  Fernhill. 
My  dear  old  father  did  not  leave  Oxford  very  early,  and 
just  came  up  as  we  were  getting  away.  How  he  did 
enjoy  it.  He  would  sometimes  come  out  for  half  a  day 
in  the  afternoon,  having  his  horse  to  meet  him  at  the 
door  of  the  schools  (the  old  schools  under  the  Bodleian 
library).  Old  Baronet  was  then  eighteen,  and  went 
well.  Lord  Macclesfield  said  that  day,  "  If  I  had  known 
he  could  go  like  that,  you  never  should  have  had  him." 
My  father  had  him  for  three  years,  but  he  fell  and  broke 
two  of  his  ribs,  larking  in  Wytham  Park,  over  some  of 
Lord  Norrey  s'  made-up  fences,  and  then  he  came  to  me  for 
three  years  more,  and  taught  my  wife  to  ride,  before  he 
went  to  his  old  home  at  the  kennels. 

The  distance  from  Fernhill  to  Chinkwell  Wood,  as 
we  ran,  is  about  15^  miles  by  the  ordnance  map,  but 
from  the  corner  of  Shabbington  Wood  to  Chinkwell, 
about  nine  miles,  via  Chearsley  and  Chilton,  and  this 
was  the  best  of  the  run.  It  does  not  look  much  upon 
paper,  but  it  was  over  a  beautiful  line  of  country,  and 
the  hounds,  after  the  first  mile,  ran  very  fast.  The  only 
bit  of  plough  I  remember  was  between  Chearsley  and 
Chilton,  coming  back.  In  going  to  Chearsley  we  ran 
to  the  north  of  Chilton  village,  and  coming  back  to  the 
south.  It  is  so  long  ago  I  can  hardly  remember  who 
was  out,  but  I  remember  Jack  Thompson  was  at  the 
corner  of  Chearsley  cover  when  I  got  there ;  and  I 
remember  one  of  the  Parkers — Algy,  I  think — giving  the 
field  a  lead  over  a  rail  under  Waterperry  in  the  first 
part  of  the  run.  Prank  Davenport  was  always  there  or 
thereabouts,  going  slow  at  his  fences,  till  he  retired  to 
Mexico.      Prank   Gale,   Fred    Turrill,   and   the   four 


75 


Castles,  made  up  the  hard  riding  division  of  the  farmers. 
Mr.  Herbert  Parsons,  Colonel  Kuck  Keene,  and  Willy 
Ashhurst,  were  out  that  day.  Lord  Macclesfield  was 
hunting  the  hounds  as  usual ;  Garsden,  kennel  hunts- 
man and  first  whip ;  Charley  Shepherd  (the  present 
kennel  huntsman),  second  whip. 

Garsden  always  seemed  to  take  it  rather  easily  in  the 
field,  and  Lord  Macclesfield  and  Charley  did  the  most  of 
the  work.  But  I  remember  one  day,  when  his  lordship 
was  out  in  1872,  Garsden  and  Charley,  with  Jack  Thomp- 
son as  field  manager,  did  just  about  push  them  along. 
I  had  then  a  pupil  not  all  there,  wlio  wanted  careful 
handling,  and  who  sometimes  would  do  nothing,  and 
you  could  make  do  nothing.  He  was  in  one  of  those 
fits  that  morning,  so  I  put  my  man  in  a  chair  in  the 
hall  to  look  after  him,  he  being  up  in  his  room,  and  got 
on  my  horse.  I  just  caught  the  hounds  going  away 
from  Hell  Copse.  There  were  three  couple  running 
another  fox,  which  I  foolishly  tried  to  stop ;  for  I  have 
found  by  experience  it  is  not  much  good  for  a  stranger 
to  try  and  stop  hounds  by  himself.  The  hounds  ran 
through  Horton  Wood,  and  came  away  by  Bechley  for 
the  top  of  Stow  Wood  (where  I  caught  them),  then  by 
Barton  village,  under  Headington,  and  ran  to  ground 
under  Shotover,  after  rising  the  hill — Jack  Thomjoson 
and  Frank  Davenport  well  to  the  fore  all  the  time.  We 
did  not  wait  a  moment  after  he  had  gone  to  ground, 
but  w^ent  straight  back  to  the  quarters  where  we  had 
left  the  three  couple;  found  them  still  running;  got 
away  at  the  corner  of  Shabbington  Wood,  through  Oak- 
ley village,  under  Brill,  and  killed  him  in  the  open 
under  Dorton.  I  got  a  bad  start  again  from  Shabbing- 
ton Wood,  and  did  not  know  they  were  away  till  I  saw 
Garsden's  grey  horse  going  away  three  fields  off*,  and 
had  to  ride  to  catch  them  ;  but  as  luck  had  it  I  was  in 


76 


at  the  death,  the  hounds  turning  in  my  favour,  and  saw 
them  catch  him  in  a  hedgerow,  along  with  Charlie,  Gars- 
den,  Jack  Thompson,  and  Frank  Davenport.  It  was  a 
capital  day's  sport  How  Jack  did  ride  and  bustle 
along  that  day.     My  horse  was  nearly  beat. 

May  I  say  a  word  about  parsons  hunting  ?  A 
man  has  no  right  to  neglect  his  parish,  or  run  into  debt, 
but  if  he  can  hunt  without  doing  either  of  these  things, 
I  cannot  see  the  harm.  Since  I  married  I  have,  for 
pecuniary  reasons,  given  up  hunting,  but  I  am  quite 
sure  of  this,  that  neither  my  pupils  or  my  parish  are  so 
well  looked  after  as  when  I  hunted.  I  lack  energy. 
Hunting  does  put  such  life  into  you.  The  energy  that 
you  have  to  use  in  hunting  seems  to  pervade  all  your 
other  work.  My  dear  father,  H.  O.  Coxe,  Bodley's 
librarian,  and  rector  of  Wytham,  always  had  a  few  half- 
days  every  season,  and  no  man  ever  worked  harder  or 
was  more  loved  in  his  generation.  I  cannot  think  it 
wrong.  I  do  think  it  wrong  to  run  into  debt,  and, 
therefore,  I  find  an  oak  walking-stick  cheaper  to  keep 
than  a  hunter,  and  the  bootmaker's  bill  less  than  the 
blacksmith's. 

HiLGEOVE  Coxe, 

Jan.  28th,  1884. 


THE    OLD    HOUND. 

My  brave  old  hound,  my  bonny  old  hound, 

Here's  a  health,  here's  a  health  to  thee  ! 
And  as  years  roll  round  mayest  thou  still  be  found 

Alongside  in  the  chase  with  me. 
Many's  the  day  we  have  hunted  away. 

And  many's  the  track  we  have  set ; 
And  now  I  am  told  that  thou  art  grown  old — 

But  there  's  life  in  the  old  Hound  yet. 


How  oft  has  thy  voice  made  the  hunters  rejoice, 

When  its  deep  mellow  notes  were  heard, 
For  well  did  they  know  that  thy  startled  i'oe 

Must  go  his  best  pace  on  the  sward. 
Thou  hast  followed  the  chase  with  untiring  pace 

From  morn  till  the  sun  has  set ; 
Thou  hast  lain  at  my  feet  when  thy  heart  scarcely  beat — 

But  there's  life  in  the  old  Hound  yet. 

Once  did  I  think,  when  on  the  steep  brink 

Of  a  dark  shining  rock  thou  stood. 
That  thy  race  was  run,  that  thy  life  was  done, 

As  thou  leaped  o'er  the  yawning  flood  : 
When  thou  fell  on  the  rocks  with  the  beaten  fox 

I  thought  a  hard  fate  thou  hadst  met, 
But  we  found  thee  below  with  thy  conquered  foe — 

Aye  !  and  life  in  the  old  Hound  yet ! 

Thy  coat  is  now  grey,  and  thy  strength  doth  decay, 

But  thy  heart  is  as  brave  and  as  true 
As  when  first  we  went  forth  on  the  hills  in  the  north 

In  pursuit  of  the  fleet-footed  crew. 
Men  are  to  be  found  who  would  kill  the  old  Hound, 

And  his  long  years  of  service  forget ; 
But  a  hand  I'll  ne'er  lend  to  destroy  my  old  friend, 

While  there  's  life  in  the  old  Hound  yet. 


There 's  many  a  lass  I  have  loved  is  dead. 

And  many  a  friend  grown  old. 
And  unless  with  thee  to  the  woodlands  led 

This  weary  heart  grows  cold. 
But  as  o'er  hill  and  dale  I  fly. 

With  thy  voice  to  madden  my  brain, 
All,  all 's  forgot  as  to  thee  I  cry, 

"  Toicks  !  have  at  him,  old  Hound,  again  !  " 

From  LoKD  Febrees. 


78 


THE   DATS    WHEN   I    RODE  WITH   THE 
OUORN. 


O  !  bright  are  the  fancies,  and  sweet  the  regrets, 

That  arise  at  the  sound  of  the  horn  ; 
The  friends  of  my  youth,  and  the  years  of  my  fun, 

The  days  when  I  rode  with  the  Quorn. 

When  I  cantered  away  on  the  quickest  of  hacks 

To  Six  Hills  so  late  in  the  morn, 
And  hunted  unwearied  o'er  pasture  and  plough, 

"What  sport  we  had  then  with  the  Quorn  ! 

What  stories  were  told  of  the  deeds  of  Tom  Smith, 
Of  the  time  ere  Lord  Stamford  was  born  ; 

We  talked  of  Sir  Eichard,  and  followed  the  Earl, 
In  the  days  when  I  rode  with  the  Quorn. 

How  Treadwell  would  gloat  o'er  an  oxer  or  brook ; 

We,  boy-like,  the  obstacles  scorn  ; 
How  we  fell  and  got  up,  and  were  never  the  worse, 

In  the  days  when  I  rode  with  the  Quorn. 

Were  the  horses  then  really  so  stout  and  so  good  ? 

The  covers  of  thicker  blackthorn  ? 
The  hounds  truer-tongued,  and  the  foxes  more  straight. 

In  the  days  when  I  rode  with  the  Quorn  ? 

And  when  we  came  back  into  JVIelton  at  night. 

Tired,  happy,  and  draggled,  and  torn. 
Were  the  ladies  then  really  more  lovely  and  kind 

Than  those  who  now  ride  with  the  Quorn  ? 


79 


Ah  !  youth,  make  the  most  of  your  day  while  it  lasts — 

No  sunset  can  equal  the  dawn  ! 
I'd  barter  ten  years  of  a  peaceable  life 

For  a  day  when  I  rode  with  the  Quorn ! 

"  Old  SpoRTSMAif," 
In  Baily's  Magazine,  March,  1884. 


A  FEAGMENT. 

Though  the  life-blood  of  Beauty  with  terror  may  curdle 

While  brooding  o'er  risks  which  the  sportsman  must 
run, 
Now  imagines  him  lying  in  state  on  a  hurdle. 

And  turns  but  with  sighs  from  the  trophies  he's  won  ; 
Yet,  when  England  at  tyrants  would  level  defiance, 

Say  what  makes  her  sons  so  undauntedly  bleed? 
'Tis  the  chase — 'tis  the  study  of  this  noble  science 

Gives  spirit,  and  vigour,  and  health  to  the  breed. 

Yarvicexsis. 


THOUGHTS   ON  HUNTING. 

BY   AN   OLD   HOTJND. 

It  is  some  years  now  since  Mills  wrote  the  "  Life  of  a 
Foxhound,"  no  doubt  from  authentic  sources,  and  gave 
to  the  outer  world  some  of  those  thoughts,  feelings,  and 
instincts  which  are  freely  passed  to  and  fro  within  the 
kennel  walls,  though  they  seldom  reach  the  world 
beyond.     Times  have  changed  since  then ;  and  it  may 


so 


not  be  uninteresting  to  those  who  would  aspire  to  the 
name  of  sportsmen  to  know  what  we,  who  are  certainly 
the  parties  most  interested  in  the  chase,  think  of  the 
changes  which  have  been  introduced.  Being  somewhat 
young  and  inexperienced  myself,  I  will  not  presume  to 
give  my  own  ideas  on  the  subject,  but  fiiithluUy  record 
a  conversation  I  had  with  a  wise  old  hound  who  had 
seen  many  countries,  during  one  of  the  hot  days  of  the 
past  month.  He  had  come  to  our  kennel,  situated  in  a 
rare  sporting  but  somewhat  rural  country,  as  Nimrod 
would  have  termed  it,  the  autumn  before,  from  the 
grass,  for  which  I  have  my  own  suspicions  he  was  getting 
rather  slow,  although  he  never  would  own  to  it,  and 
consequently  was  looked  up  to  with  respect,  and  treated  as 
an  authority  by  all  of  us — an  honour  he  well  deserved, 
not  only  on  account  of  his  high  Hneage,  but  also  for  his 
really  excellent  qualities  ;  for  once  or  t\\  ice  during  the 
preceding  season  he  had  set  us  right  when  our  fox  was 
nearly  lost,  and  been  the  means  of  killing  him. 

Our  huntsman,  as  was  his  wont,  had  walked  out  with 
us  in  the  park,  and  allowed  us  an  hour  of  thorough 
enjoyment,  rolling  in  the  short  crisp  turf,  or  stretched 
under  the  shade  of  the  stately  elms  ;  when,  seeing  old 
Rally  wood  was  not  disposed  for  his  usual  nap,  I  ven- 
tured to  ask  if  he  did  not  think  hunting  in  our  land  of 
ploughs  and  big  woods  a  very  tame  affair  in  comparison 
with  \\  hat  he  had  been  accustomed  to  on  the  grass. 

"  Why,  no,  youngster,"  was  his  reply  ;  *'  though,  I  tell 
you,  I  did  not  much  like  the  thought  of  exchanging 

N for    D shire,  and   quite  intended  the  first 

day  I  was  taken  out  to  give  the  lot  the  slip,  and  make 
the  best  of  my  way  back  to  my  old  kennels.  I  was  so 
pleased  with  the  fun  (you  remember  it  was  a  rare 
scenting   day)    and    the    sportsmanlike    behaviour   of 


81 


master,  huntsman,  and  field,  that  I  determined  to  stop 
and  have  a  httle  more  of  it,  and,  as  you  see,  here  I  am 
stiU." 

"  But  it  must  be  much  better  fun  running  over  the 
grass  than  toiling  along,  all  mud  and  wet,  in  our  greasy 
fallows,  often  with  not  scent  enough  to  enable  you  to 
hold  the  line  ?" 

"  You  are  quite  right  there ;  and  on  some  days,  when 
there  is  nothing  to  interfere  with  us,  the  sport  is 
glorious.  I  remember  one  day  in  particular,  when  we 
slipped  away  from  every  one,  in  a  dense  fog  that  sud- 
denly came  over,  and  killed  our  fox  after  forty  minutes 
without  a  check  or  crossing  a  yard  of  plough ;  but  then 
such  a  thing  may  not  happen  once  in  hounds'  lifetime,  and 
as  a  rule  after  cub-hunting  is  over,  we  seldom  have  any 
real  fun — at  least  such  is  my  experience.  I  like  to  hunt, 
and  nothing  disgusts  me  more  than  having  to  gallop 
about  after  the  huntsman's  horse,  without  being  allowed 
to  put  my  nose  down,  and  the  constant  danger  of  being 
half  laid  open  by  the  whipper-in's  thong  if  I  try  to  do 
so.  However,  I  never  let  that  hinder  me.  And  once 
having  slipped  through  a  big  ox-fence  out  of  the  way, 
that  young  Jack  Mas  afraid  to  charge  after  me,  I  hit  off 
the  line,  and,  with  two  couple  and  a  half  more  that 
came  to  me,  had  a  good  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and 
pulled  down  our  fox,  while  A¥ill,  the  huntsman,  was 
galloping  and  halloaing  right  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and,  after  having  ridden  his  horse  nearly  to  a  standstill, 
blew  his  horn  at  a  rabbit  burrow,  and  swore  the  fox  he 
had  lost  six  miles  back  was  gone  to  ground.  Not  that 
Will  is  a  bad  fellow,  and  I  believe  he  would  like  to  see 
us  hunt ;  but  then  he  is  vain  of  his  riding,  and,  as  it  is 
the  fashion  for  all  the  swells  to  ride  at  him  and  try  to 
cut  him  down,  he  soon  loses  his  head,  and  thinks  more 


82 


of  his  horse  than  his  hounds.  On  one  occasion  both  he 
and  his  field  lost  the  pack  entirely  through  jealousy,  and 
were  staring  about  on  the  top  of  a  hill  to  know  where 
we  were  gone ;  at  the  time  we  were  quietly  eating  our 
fox  in  a  hollow  a  mile  behind  them.  Then  the  men 
who  come  out  on  the  grass  are,  many  of  them,  a  great 
nuisance,  and  often  have  I  been  prevented  making  a  hit 
by  fifty  or  sixty  pounding  up  a  green  lane,  and  then, 
seeing  they  had  got  too  forward,  pulling  up  in  the  very 
spot  the  fox  had  crossed.  In  fact,  I  hardly  know 
which  are  the  most  tiresome  to  hounds,  the  hard  riders 
or  the  shirkers ;  for  one  party  drives  them  over  the 
scent,  and  the  other  cuts  them  ofi"  and  foils  it.  Again, 
the  danger  to  hounds  in  the  grass  countries  is  not  to  be 
lightly  estimated ;  and  if  you  think  that  one  half  the  field 
would  alter  their  line  at  a  fence  because  a  hound  was  in 
the  way,  you  are  very  much  mistaken.  Then,  half  of 
them  are  not  so  particular  about  the  horses  they  ride  as 
every  one  who  hunts  ought  to  be,  and  I,  in  my  first 
season,  was  left  for  dead  from  a  kick  received  from  a 
celebrated  grey.  Kick  hounds  or  horses  either  he 
would  if  he  had  the  chance,  and  no  doubt  you  will 
wonder  why  his  owner,  who  was  really  a  good  sports- 
man, continued  to  ride  him  ;  but  he  was  the  best  water- 
jumper  in  the  hunt.  I  do  not  say,  mind  you,  that  there 
are  not  first-rate  sportsmen,  and  many  of  them,  in  the 
shires — in  fact,  you  would  find  more  good  sportsmen  at  a 
meet  there  than  anywhere:  but  they  are  so  largely 
leavened  with  those  who  are  not  sportsmen — men  who 
go  out  because  it 's  the  fashion — men  who  go  out  to 
show  their  horses,  or  their  boots,  or  to  ride  against  each 
other — that  it  becomes,  in  the  regular  season,  anything 
but  a  paradise  for  hounds. 

"  Why,  I  once  knew  a  man  gallop  and  halloa  like  a 
maniac,  to  get  us  on  to  a  fresh  fox  that  jumped  up  from 


83 


a  hedgerow  where  our  hunted  one  had  turned  short, 
although  anyone  half  asleep  might  have  seen  the  differ- 
ence in  them ;  and  thus  he  got  up  the  heads  of  my 
companions,  and  lost  us  our  reward  of  blood,  which  was 
nearly  earned  after  a  cold  hunting  run  of  over  an  hour- 
and-a-half.  Then  I  had  a  fellow  throw  down  the  end 
of  a  stinking  cigar  just  as  I  was  feathering  on  the  line 
past  him  up  a  lane,  and  the  vile  smell  so  affected  me, 
that  I  could  not  hunt  a  yard  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 
I  beheve  I  could  have  killed  our  fox  had  it  not  been  for 
him.  Another — and,  I  believe,  he  wrote  as  an  authority 
on  hunting— said  that  my  poor  old  sister  Eeckless  ought  to 
be  hung  when  she  got  home,  because  she  stuck  persistently 
to  the  line  of  her  hunted  fox  when  all  the  rest  had  given  it 
up,  and  he  wanted  to  go  and  find  another.  However, 
as  I  told  you  before,  there  are  real  good  men  who 
understand  us,  our  instincts,  and  our  ways;  such,  for 
instance,  as  M or  T ,  but  they  want  elbow- 
room  on  the  grass.  Now,  here  you  have  small  fields, 
and,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  every  man  who  goes  to  meet 
hounds  is  a  sportsman.  Our  huntsman,  it  is  true,  does 
not  ride  so  hard  as  Will,  and  I  have  seen  him  get  off 
at  a  big  bank,  or  make  for  a  gate,  when  a  little  more 
quickness  on  his  part,  and  the  sound  of  the  horn  on  the 
right  sj>ot,  at  the  right  moment,  would  have  put  us  on 
better  terms  with  our  fox  (for  he  never  deceives 
us,  and  when  he  does  tootle,  it  is  always  a  saving 
of  time  to  fly  to  the  sound  at  once) ;  but  then 
these  are  sins  of  omission,  and  he  never  loses 
a  fox  for  us  by  unnecessary  interference.  Then, 
look  at  our  master ;  his  object  is  neither  to  jump 
the  biggest  fences  or  race  for  twenty  minutes ;  but  he 
likes  to  see  his  fox  well  found,  well  hunted,  and 
handsomely  killed.     He  knows  where  and  how  to  draw 


84 


so  as  to  give  us  the  best  chance  of  finding ;  and  if  you 
hear  his  horn  or  holloa,  you  may  swear  it  is  gospel. 
And,  as  you  know,  last  season,  Tom,  the  second  whip, 
was  sacked,  at  a  few  minutes'  notice,  for  punishing  a 
hound  unnecessarily,  and  when  it  was  plain  that  the 
hound  was  right  and  the  man  wrong.  No,  no,  young- 
ster, you  be  contented  here ;  the  grass  must  have  been 
a  perfect  elysium  for  hounds  in  the  old  days,  when 
Meynell  hunted  from  the  borders  of  the  Pytchley  to 
JSTottingham,  and  fields  were  small,  and  composed  of 
only  sportsmen ;  but  the  day  is  gone,  the  shires  are  the 
fashion,  and  a  reasonable  hound,  who  knows  what  sport 
is  and  hunting  ought  to  be,  is  better  out  of  a  fashionable 
crowd  than  in  it. 

"  Then,  look  at  your  country  here  :  plenty  of  heathy 
which  carries  a  scent  second  only — if  second  at  all — to 
grass ;  no  game  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  young 
ones,  and  cause  them  to  '  eat  stick '  before  they  really 
know  what  to  hunt,  chase,  and  avoid ;  and,  above  all, 
those  magnificent  hills  and  gulleys,  which  form  no 
impediment  to  us,  but  stop  those  brutes  of  horses,  whose 
greatest  enjoyment,  I  firmly  believe,  is  to  gallop  our 
sterns  ofil  Think  of  the  glorious  bursts  we  have  '  all 
alone,'  while  they  are  toiling  and  straining  under  their 
burdens  up  the  miry,  slippery  hill-sides,  and  be  thank- 
ful that  there  is  no  chance  of  your  having  a  broken  back 
because  A has  determined  to  be  through  that  bull- 
finch before  B .  Then,  besides  our  master,  hunts- 
men, and  whips,  all  of  whom  are  heart  and  soul  in 
hunting,  and  think  more  of  our  work  than  their  horses' 
fencing,  have  we  not  that  glorious  old  parson  J.  E-.  to 
help  us  out  of  a  dead  lift  when  no  one  else  is  handy  ? 
and  no  man  in  England  knows  better  how  to  do  it. 
Now,  youngster,  don't  ask  any  more  questions,  for  I 
am  sleepy."  N. 

Baily's  Magazine. 


85 


THE  HILL'S  WOOD  UVN  WITH  THE  BERKELEY 
HOUNDS, 

25th  of  January,  1864. 

Have  you  heard  of  tlie  run  with  the  fam'd  Berkeley  pack  ? 
Of  all  our  good  things  you'll  admit  'twas  the  crack. 
Our  meet  was  at  Kineton,  and  Thornbury  Park 
Held  a  fox  who  meant  going,  if  need  be,  till  dark ; 
And  crossing  the  grounds,  in  his  enemies'  view, 
Eor  twenty-five  minutes  straight  onward  he  flew. 
The  Colonel  (i)  rides  first  down  a  bank  wide  and  steep 
On  "  Charcoal"  (who  doesn't  mean  going  to  sleep) ; 
Next  the  Huntsman,  (2)  whose  cap  is  knock'd  off  and 

nigh  stamp'd  on — 
Never  mind,  we  are  sailing  away  for  Bockhampton. 
Very  few  get  a  start,  but,  whoever  they  be. 
Their  number  soon  after  increases  by  three: — 
Three  Nimrods,  who  late  at  their  breakfast  did  tarry, 
(xot  a  "Nick"  that  conducted  them  straight  to  "  Old 

Harry !" 
For  this  fox  we  however  now  failed  in  our  search — 
P'r'aps  a  sanctum  he  found  in  the  woods  of  the  church.(3) 
Now  return'd  from  the  Severn  all  ready  we  stood. 
While  the  pack  is  preparing  to  rattle  Hill's  Wood. 
Hark,  a  crash !  they're  away !  thro'  the  park  is  his  line — 
A  fair  start,  and  no  favour  for  your  horse  or  mine ; 
Thro'  Stone's  verdant  meadows  right  onwards  we  sail, 
Those  meadows  describ'd  as  the  Cream  of  the  Yale. 
On  to  Tortworth  we  press'd  him  without  hesitation, 
And  foUow'd  our  fox  thro'  the  belt  of  plantation ; 


1.  Colonel  Berkeley,  now  Lord  Fitzhardinge. 

2.  The  huntsman,  Harry  Ayris. 

3.  Church  Wood,  a  covert  near  Rockhampton. 


86 


But  Tortworth's  home  coverts  he  gallantly  spurns, 

And  ere  we  could  reach  him  for  Charfield  he  turns, 

Cross  the  railway,  and  brook  where  most  of  the  field 

Still  faintly  pursuing,  are  destin'd  to  yield ; 

Then  forwards  to  Ozleworth's  coverts  he  bore. 

Where  the  hunting  continues,  tho'  riding  is  o'er ; 

Like  leeches  on  flesh  did  the  blood-thirsty  pack 

Up  to  Alderley  hunt  him,  from  Alderley,  back ; 

Till  near  Wotton's  old  town,  brave  reynard  dead  beaten, 

Ean  to  ground  in  a  drain,  was  dug  out,  and  eaten — 

And  now,  who  went  best  ?  Time  fails  me  to  tell 

The  separate  deeds  of  each  man  that  went  well. 

We  had  all  (as  the  classics  observe)  "  quantum  suff," 

Or  in  English,  our  horses  had  had  quite  enough. 

For  the  fences  were  tall  and  the  lawyers  not  short. 

But  one  lawyer  (4)  disposed  of  them  all  (out  of  court) ; 

For  leaving  the  merits  of  blood  in  abeyance. 

This  lawj'^er  possess'd  a  trustworthy  conveyance. 

I  shall  ever  remember  that  huge  equine  figure — 

May  his  shade  ne'er  grow  less  (it  can  never  grow  bigger). 

No  ladies  enlivened  the  scene  with  their  faces, 

Which  perhaps  may  account  for  the  absence  of"  Graces;" 

But  a  skirter  from  Hill's  wood  beholding  us,  said, 

"  Why,  surely  some  Miles's  (5)  are  some  miles  ahead !" 

Tho'  the  Banker,(6)  on  "  All  Fours,"  exclaimed,"  What 

a  pity 
These  banlvs  are  not  solid  like  those  in  the  city ; 
For  tho'  clever  my  horse  is  considered,  by  heavens 
At  one  time  '  All  Fours '  was  *  all  sixes  and  sevens.'" 
Brave  Charcoal  (7)  fell  lame  before  reaching  the  goal. 
But  a  Colonel  (8)  was  there  from  a  neighbouring  Knole, 


4.  Edward  Burges,  Esq. 

5.  P.  W.  S.  Miles,  W.  H.  Miles,  and  R.  H.  Miles,  Esqs. 

6.  W.  H.  Miles,  on  "All  Fours,"  a  favourite  hunter. 

7.  "  Charcoal,"  a  favourite  hunter  of  Colonel  Berkeley's. 

8.  Colonel  William,  master  of  Knole  Park. 


87 


And  you'll  understand  what  I  mean  if  I  say, 

That  he  rode  in  his  usual  masterly  way ; 

While  we  all  must  admit,  that  in  quest  of  sly  reynard, 

There's  no  one  rides  straighter  or  lighter  than  Lennard.(9) 

Then  "  a  health  to  the  pack "  must  conclude  this  long 

letter, 
Eor  where  is  the  country  can  show  us  a  better  ? 
Where  lives  there  an  owner  more  popular  ?  where  is 
The  huntsman  to  vie  with  the  bold  Harry  Ayris  ? 
Long  may  Berkeley's  wide  coverts  re-echo  his  voice, 
And  many  such  fox  bid  his  old  heart  rejoice ! 
And  oft  may  he  talk  of  the  run  from  Hill's  Wood, 
Till  the  day  when  he  shows  us  another  as  good. 
That  you,  reader,  and  I  may  be  there  on  that  day, 
Is  the  prayer  of  the  man  (lo)  on  the  thoro'  bred  grey. 

P.  K.  B.  Oliphant. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  EOX  AT  GOPSALL, 

1868. 

Not  a  halloa  was  heard,  nor  a  blast  of  the  horn, 

As  away  thro'  the  cover  he  scurried ; 
Not  a  bay  from  a  hound,  nor  a  who  whoop  was  borne 

O'er  the  grave  where  poor  reynard  we  buried. 

We  buried  him  silently,  holding  our  breath — 

To  sportsmen  in  future  a  warning ; 
But  murder  will  out,  and  his  untimely  death 

Was  known  everywhere  in  the  morning. 


9.    T.  Lennard,  Esq.,  of  Bristol. 
10.    P.  Kington  Oliphant,  Esq.,  (the  author  of  the  poem.) 


88 


His  skin  was  unrent,  his  bones  were  unbroke ; 

We  laid  bim  down  just  where  he  fell 
None  at  first  had  the  spirit  to  venture  a  joke, 

Or  laugh  at  so  awful  a  sell. 

Not  loud  but  deep  were  the  curses  we  said, 
And  our  hearts  were  o'ercome  with  sorrow, 

As  we  thought  on  the  fox  that  before  us  lay  dead, 
And  our  hunt  that  was  lost  on  the  morrow. 

We  thought  as  we  smoothed  down  his  narrow  bed, 

And  arranged  each  muscular  limb. 
That  the  horn  of  the  huntsman  might  sound  o'er  his  head, 

But  never  in  honour  of  him. 

Loudly  they'll  talk  of  the  deed  that's  been  done, 

And  Appleby's  *  squire  much  abuse ; 
And  the  people  all  round  will  be  poking  their  fun, 

As  soon  as  they  get  at  the  news. 

But  scarcely  our  mournful  task  was  done, 
And  we  thought  of  resuming  our  firing, 

When  the  vulpecide  vowed  he  would  give  up  his  gun, 
And  homewards  talked  of  retiring. 

Slowly  he  left,  amid  many  a  sneer, 

The  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory ; 
Tho'  oftered  the  brush,  he  declined  with  a  tear, 

Such  a  basely-earned  trophy  of  glory. 

MOEAL. 

All  ye  who  chance  to  read  these  lines, 

This  moral  may  espy  : 
If  with  old  gentlemen  you  shoot, 

Take  care  to  wipe  their  eye. 

Old  George  Moore,  of  Appleby,  shot  a  fox  accidentally. 
From  Col.  J.  Anstruther  Thomson. 

*George  Moore,  of  Appleby. 


89 


THE  STABLE  BOY. 

Cima  Eosa !  Yallombrosa !  Citron  groves,  sir  ? 

Songs  !  Vines  !  Joy  ! 
Grander  far  is  High  Leicestershire 

To  the  heart  of  a  Stable  Boy. 

I  rise  at  dawn,  nor  feel  forlorn. 

But  whistle  for  cheerful  joy  ; 
I  look  on  all  other  pursuits  with  scorn, 

Because  I'm  a  Stable  Boy. 

All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell 

Hunt  fallacies  that  cloy  : 
Oh !  let  them  learn  the  way  to  do  well 

Is  to  copy  the  Stable  Boy. 

Drop  ostentation  and  fiddle  de  dee. 

Drop  worries  that  annoy. 
And  set  you  down  at  the  Coplow,  free 

Like  a  true  born  Stable  Boy. 

Pictures,  and  gems,  and  bric-a-brac  stuff, 

And  every  other  toy — 
Sell  all,  and  buy  a  clean  thoro'  bred  horse, 

For  so  would  a  Stable  Boy. 

Thomson  and  Tailby  could  sweat  their  brow 

In  zeal  for  others'  joy, 
And  toiled  as  hard  for  "the  Midland  sport 

As  ever  a  Stable  Boy. 

Sent  anonymously  from  Maeket  Haeborough 

TO  Col.  J.  Ansteuthee  Thomson,  Nov.,  1880. 


90 


Lines  weitten  by  Geoege  Templer,  of  Stover,  on 

HIS  GIVING  UP  THE  SoUTH  DeVON  HoUNDS. 

"  MY  OLD  HOEN." 

Tho'  toil  hath  somewhat  worn  thy  frame, 
And  time  hath  marred  thy  beauty, 

Come  forth,  loved  relic  of  my  fame. 
Thou  well  hast  done  thy  duty. 

Time  was  when  other  tongues  would  praise 
Thy  wavering  notes  of  pleasure, 

Now  miser-like  alone  I  gaze 
On  thee,  a  useless  treasure. 

Some  hearts  may  prize  thy  music  still, 
But  oh  !  how  changed  the  story 

Since  first  Devonia  felt  the  thrill 
That  roused  her  sporting  glory. 

Grace  still  in  every  vale  abounds, 
But  one  dear  charm  is  wanting ; 

No  more  I  hear  my  gallant  hounds 
In  chorus  blithely  chaunting. 

And  there  my  steed  hath  found  a  rest 

Beneath  the  mountain  heather, 
That  oft,  like  comrades  sworn,  we've  prest 

In  pleasure's  train  together. 

And  some,  who  at  thy  call  would  wake, 
Hath  friendship  long  been  weeping ; 

A  shriller  note  than  mine  must  wake 
Their  deep  and  dreamless  sleeping. 


91 


I,  too,  the  fading  wreath  resign, 
jFor  friends  and  fame  are  fleeting, 

Around  his  *  bolder  brow  to  twine 
AVhere  younger  blood  is  beating. 

Henceforth  be  mute,  my  treasured  horn, 
Since  time  hath  marred  thy  beauty, 

And  I,  like  thee,  by  toil  am  worn  : 
Thou  well  hast  done  thy  duty. 


"EOUSE,  BOYS,  EOUSE." 

Rouse,  boys,  rouse,  'tis  a  fine  hunting  morning ; 
Rouse,  boys,  rouse,  and  prepare  for  the  chase ; 
Let  not  the  time  fly  that's  spent  in  adorning, 
But  on  to  cover  hie  at  a  good  pace. 

There  when  you  find,  sir. 

The  country's  divine,  sir. 
The  fences  are  whackers,  the  brooks  are  not  small ; 

But  w^ere  they  larger,  sir, 

Boldly  we'd  charge  'em,  sir, 
Nor  care  a  farthing,  sir,  how  oft  we  fall. 

Now  from  the  fox  he  is  driven,  sir : 

Hark  how  the  valleys  re-echo  the  call ; 

'Tis  Osbaldeston's  (i)  voice  reaching  the  heavens,  boys, 

Hallooing  "  forrard  "  loud  as  he  can  bawl. 

Then  there's  such  spluttering, 

Spurting  and  sputtering, 
Each  one  so  anxious  to  be  in  the  van ; 

At  the  first  rattling  leap, 

Ox-fence  or  field  of  deep. 
Onward  the  good  ones  creep — catch  them  who  can. 


•The  late  Sir  Walter  Carew,  of  Haccombe,  Devonshire. 
I.    G.  Osbaldeston,  the  celebrated  "  Squire." 


92 


White  (2)  on  the  "Wright,"  sir,  is  in  the  first  flight,  sir, 
And  quite  out  of  sight,  sir,  of  those  in  the  rear ; 
And  with  him  goes  Neville,  and  Berkeley, (3)  that  devil 
Who  of  good  or  evil  knows  no  hope  or  fear. 

Molyneux  strives  at 

What  horse  scarce  dare  rise  at. 
Bold  Plymouth  (4)  bullfinches  close  at  his  side ; 

Musgrave  (5)  on  Antelope, 

Baird  (6)  upon  Jenny  Hope, 
Over  the  grassy  slope  forward  they  ride. 


Coke  (7)  on  the  pony,  sir,  scarce  has  a  crony,  sir, 
Standish  has  distanced  the  crowd  very  far  ; 
Whilst  at  a  place,  sir,  that  few  men  dare  face,  sir, 
Without  checking  pace,  sir,  drives  Valentine  Maher.  (8) 
Prince  of  the  heavy-weights,  Tweedale,  (9)  is  bruising; 
Maxse,  (10)  on  Cognac,  cannot  be  beat; 
Poor  Johnny  Campbell's  (n)  horse  long  since  refusing, 
In  struggling  convulsion  fits,  dies  at  his  feet. 


2.  "  That  well-known  performer  over  a  country  or  over  a  course,  Mr. 
John  White." 

3.  Sir  Maurice  Berkeley,  afterwards  Lord  Fitzhardinge. 

4.  Lord  Plymouth. 

5.  Sir  James  Musgrave. 

6.  Sir  David  Baird. 

7.  Mr.  William  Coke,  of  Norfolk,  owner  of  "Advance." 

8.  Valentine  Maher.— See  Ante. 

9.  Lord  Tweedale. 

10.  Mr.  Maxse  rode  Cognac  nine  seasons. 

11.  Mr._  Campbell,  of  Saddell  theauthor.  He  was  riding  a  friend's  horse, 
and  the  animal  having  unfortunately  died,  Mr.  Campbell,  hoping  to  conceal 
the  disaster,  begged  the  owner  to  put  a  price  upon  him,  but  the  gentleman 
declining  to  do  so,  Mr.  Campbell  was  obliged  to  reveal  the  calamity. 


93 


But  our  pace  is  the  best,  sir;  the  fox  is  hard  prest,  sir  : 
The  hounds  run  with  zest,  sir^,  heads  up  and  sterns 

down; 
He  can't  reach  yon  cover ;  no,  no,  'tis  all  over — 
Hark  how  the  death-peahng  tallies  resound. 

Dined — o'er  our  claret 

We'll  talk  of  the  merit 
Of  ev'ry  choice  spirit  that  rode  in  this  run ; 
But  here  the  crowd,  sir,  can  be  just  as  loud,  sir, 
As  those  who  were  foremost  enjoying  the  fun. 
Faster  and  faster  they  tell  each  disaster 
Of  bunglers  and  tumblers,  and  tailors  who  shun ; 

While  we  drink  round,  sir, 

And  drink  to  these  hounds,  sir, 
Who  over  such  ground,  sir,  could  show  us  such  fun. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OE  CAPT.  BEEKELET'S 

(ATTEEWAEDS  SIE  MAUEICE  and  lord  riTZHAEDINGE) 

HORSE. 

He  turned  to  take  a  last  long  look,  the  evening  sky  was 

red. 
The  leading  hounds  already  must  have  been  two  fields 

ahead. 
Their  fox  was  sinking  rapidly,  the  chase  was  nearly  done. 
And  he  had  gone  the  best,  the  first,  throughout  that 

glorious  run ; 
And  then  in  sadness  down  he  looked  to  where  beside 

him  lay 
The  steed  who'd  borne  his  lord  so  well  through  all  that 

wondrous  day ! 


94 


That  morn  lie  bounded  fresk  and  fair,  but  now  witbi 

stony  eye, 
With  nostril  stretch'd,  and  heaving  flank,  he'd  lain  him 

down  to  die ! 
'Twill  soon  be  o'er,  just  one  short  neigh,  a  quiver  and  a 

groan, 
His  eye  was  set,  his  heart  was  full,  'twas  thus  he  made 

his  moan : 


And  is  it  come  to  this  at  last,  my  own  my  gallant  steed? 

Although  I  see,  1  scarce  believe  that  thou  art  dead 
indeed. 

And  can  it  be  that  thou  and  I  no  more  shall  lead  the 
burst  ? 

No  more  cut  down  the  customers,  the  fastest  and  the 
first? 

No  more  shall  fly  the  biggest  fence  that  thins  the  horse- 
men's ranks  ? 

No  more  shall  charge  the  widest  brook,  though  brimming 
to  its  banks  ? 

Oft,  olt,  for  many  a  rapturous  mile,  throughout  the  live- 
long day, 

O'er  many  a  field,  o'er  many  a  fence,  we  two  have  sailed 
away ! 

And  now  it  almost  breaks  my  heart  to  see  thee  lying 
there. 

To  know  I  cannot  help  thee  with  my  fondest,  tenderest 
care! 

To  feel  that  all  is  over,  that  thy  bright  career  is  past, 

That  spite  thy  form,  and  spite  thy  fame,  this  field  has 
been  thy  last ! 


95 


Ijbought  thee  as  a  yearling,  and  the  promise  of  thy  youth 
For  stoutness,  speed,  and  gentleness,  was  well  fulfilled 

in  truth. 
Right   worthy   of  thy   line,   thy   sire,  whom  o'er  the 

Beacon  Course 
Newmarket  well  remembers  as  a  good  and  honest  horse ; 
Thy  dam,  whom  legs  and  bookmakers  all  voted  was  a 

hoax 
Until  at  Epsom  she  came  out,  the  winner  of  the  Oaks. 
And  all  their  qualities  were  thine,  unlike  each  meaner 

steed 
There  was  the  pride  of  conscious  power,  the  ease  of 

conscious  speed; 
Like  them  thou  did'st  not  fret  and  chafe  before  hounds 

went  away, 
But  when  the  pace  became  severe,  how  far  behind  were 

they! 

Though  high  and  strong  the  rails,  on  thee  I  needed  not 

to  crane; 
Though  wide  and  deep  the  ditch  might  be,  for  thee  it 

gaped  in  vain ! 
When  horse  and  man  were  going  down,  though  good 

and  stout  they  were ; 
As  if  thy  very  feet  were  winged,  thou'st  borne  me  safe 

and  fair ! 
When  hounds  were  racing  for  their  fox,  fast  running 

into  view. 
Still  was  thy  mettle  high  and  keen,  still  was  thine  action 

true. 
Foxes  may  fly  and  hounds  may  run,  and  horses  still  will 

tire, 
Yet  'twas  not  so  with  thee,  my  steed,  thou  wast  indeed 

a  flyer ! 


96 


I'rom  Tilton  "Wood  to  Loddington  the  hills  are  wou- 

drous  steep. 
The   vale   of  Belvoir,    too,    we   know,   will   oft  ride 

wondrous  deep ; 
Fences  are  strong  at  Skeffington,  and  Belton  seldom  fails 
To  give  account  of  sobbing  sides,  lost  shoes,  and  quiver- 
ing tails. 
From  Barkby  Holt  to  Stapleford,  from  Owston  Wood 

to  Glen, 
I'll  think  of  many  a  glorious  run  we  ne'er  can  see  again. 
I'll  think  how  many  a  hunting  morn  I've  mounted  thee 

in  pride. 
How  many  a  dark  December  night  we've  plodded  side 

by  side. 
Seasons  roll  on,  and  years  pass  by,  so  life  flits  day  by  day. 
And  others,  too,  will  bear  me  well,  though  thou  art 

passed  away. 
There'll  still  be  music  in  the  hounds,  and  pleasure  in 

the  chase 
When  other  limbs  beneath  me  bound,  and  others  fill 

thy  place ; 
But  often  shall  I  think  of  thee,  and  oft  regret  in  vain 
The  favourite  one,  whose  like  I  ne'er  can  hope  to  ride 

again. 


THE  FOKEMOST   PLIGHT. 

I  am  a  jovial  sportsman,  as  every  man  should  be, 

A  hunting  life  and  a  country  life  is  jnst  the  life  for  me. 

Our  ^horses  and  our  hounds  are  such  no  other  clime 

can  show, 
For  'tis  their   delight,  in  the  foremost  flight,  with  a 

flying  fox  to  go. 


97 


We  are  sucli  plucky  fellows  we  never  fear  a  fall, 

But  boldly  face  the  fence  or  gate,  the  spreading  brook, 

and  wall ; 
And  those  who  crane  or  ride  the  lanes  we  hold  are  shy 

and  slow, 
And  wdll  ne'er  delight  in  the  foremost  flight  hke  birds 

with  us  to  go. 


And  when  we  greet  the  well-known  meet  we  quickly 

leave  our  hack, 
And  jump  upon  our  hunter  who  is  waiting  with  the 

pack. 
Then  crash  into  the  cover  both  hounds  and  huntsmen  go. 
[Line  omitted.] 


Hark  there !  I  hear  a  challenge ;  it  is  old  Music's  note ! 
A  chorus  joins — what  joyous  sounds  now  in  the  breezes 

float. 
"  Hark !  halloa !"  cries  the  whip,  for  he  has  heard  the 

huntsman  blow — 
The  scent  is  good,  and  thro'  the  wood,  by  Jove !  how 

they  do  go. 


The  huntsman  cries,  '•'  Now,  gently,  pray  hold  hard,  for 

there  he  breaks, 
And  straight  across  the  open  now  his  line  he  boldly 

takes : 
He's  fairly  gone,  so  now  we'll  give  a  rattling  tally-ho ; 
And  now  we're  right  in  the  foremost  flight,  with  a  right 

good  start  to  go." 


And  now  for  twenty  minutes  w^e  have  had  a  glorious 

burst — 
The  pace  begins  to  tell  on  them  who  yet  have  gone  the 

first. 
A  check — so  now  w^e'll  take  a  pull,  and  let  our  horses 

blow, 
And  set  them  right  in  the  foremost  flight  again  like 

trumps  to  go. 

"  Hark,  Eanter !  hark !"  the  huntsman  cries.  They  hit 
him  off  again — 

A  sheet  would  cover  all  the  pack  now  racing  o'er  the 
plain. 

A  view  !  it  is  the  hunted  fox,  I  know  by  yonder  crow, 

For  'tis  her  delight  in  the  foremost  flight  with  a  sink- 
ing fox  to  go. 

To  reach  yon  distant  cover,  now,  in  vain  game  reynard 

tries ; 
Old  Venom  runs  into  him,  and  he  gamely  fighting  dies. 
"  Who  whoop  !"  now  cries  the  huntsman,  who  late  cried 

"tally  ho!" 
Oh !  'tis  pure  delight,  in  the  foremost  flight,  in  a  run 

like  this  to  go. 

"  Here's  fox-hunting  and  fox-hunters !   and  may    we 

never  trace 
The  man  within  old  England's  shores  who  would  put 

down  the  chase ; 
For  such  a  man  at  once  I  scan  as  British  sportsman's  foe. 
Who  still  delight  in  the  foremost  flight  like  bricks  and 

trumps  to  go." 

From  Colonel  Anstruthee  Thomson. 


99 


PATEICK'S  BEAE  SLAYING. 

A   PARODY. 

Sing  we  how  the  mighty  hunter, 
He,  the  very  strong  man,  Patrick, 
Went  to  Norway  at  all  seasons, 
Crossed  the  North  Sea  in  all  weathers  ; 
Very  sick  was  in  the  steamers, 
Very  cold  was  on  the  fjelds. 
Very  hot  was  in  the  valleys, 
Very  hungry,  very  dirty. 
Sleeping  in  a  reindeer  skin  bag, 
SHding  down  the  slopes  in  snow-shoes, 
Sitting  in  hay-houses  filthy, 
Eating  of  the  flad-brod  flabby. 
Dancing  with  Norwegian  Piges, 
Talking  to  the  drengs  and  bonders ; 
Walking,  toihng,  night  and  morning, 
In  the  snow  and  in  the  sunshine 
Of  the  great  lone  land  o£  Norway, 
Of  that  flea-infested  clime. 

Three  long  years  the  mighty  hunter. 
He,  the  very  strong  man,  Patrick, 
Went  to  Norway  in  this  fashion, 
Suffered  all  this  pain  and  hardship, 
Till  his  friends  began  to  mock  him. 
Till  the  world  began  to  jeer  him, 
Saying,  "  What  a  fool  is  Patrick ! 
Almost  like  an  idjot  seems  he." 

Why  did  Patrick  all  these  strange  things  ? 
Why  commit  these  wondrous  follies. 
Leaving  home,  and  peace,  and  plenty, 
Horses,  hounds,  and  fields  and  woodlands. 


100 


Deer  and  pheasants,  game  and  foxes, 

Beef  to  eat  and  Southdown  mutton, 

All  that  any  man  could  wish  for  ? 

Why  ?  because  the  bear,  the  "  Feld-Kong," 

He,  the  "  gammel  man,"  the  "  Bjorn," 

Wandered  free  upon  the  fjeld, 

Laughing  at  the  drengs  and  bonders, 

Taking  sheep,  and  cows,  and  piges  ; 

Caring  nothing  for  their  shot  guns. 

For  their  shouts,  and  shrieks,  and  bowlings ; 

Living  as  he  did  aforetime 

In  the  days  of  song  and  saga, 

King  of  all  the  beasts  in  INorway, 

Fearing  no  man,  royal  "  Feld-Kong." 

This  it  was  that  Patrick  pondered 

Three  long  years  in  vain  endeavour, 

Face  to  face  to  meet  the  monster, 

And  with  gun  or  rifle  slay  him. 

So  at  last  in  Surendalen, 

He,  the  gammel  man,  the  Bjorn, 

Killing  lambs  and  biting  tree-tops, 

Came  too  near  the  mighty  hunter. 

Came  too  near  the  strong  man,  Patrick. 

In  a  reindeer  skin  bag  laid  he, 

On  the  fjeld  two  nights  watched  he. 

Till  at  last  the  bear,  unthinking. 

Caring  nought  for  dreng  or  bonder, 

Came  too  near  the  wily  Patrick — 

Came  and  sat  down  chewing  dead  lamb, 

Pawing  up  with  joy  the  pieces 

From  the  earth  where  he  had  laid  them, 

Till  a  shot,  well  aimed  and  steady, 

Lowly  laid  the  bear,  the  Bjorn ; 


101 


Till  his  giant  form  rolled  over, 
And  his  red  eyes  glittered  strangely, 
And  the  hunting  knife  gleamed  o'er  him. 
Ended  were  his  wild  adventures, 
Ended  all  his  thefts  and  murders. 
And  his  gambolings  ungainly. 
Now  his  skin  is  Patrick's  sofa, 
And  his  head  hangs  up  with  honour 
In  the  house  where,  sung  in  story, 
All  his  feats  will  be  remembered. 

L.  C.  M.,  Jflt,  1882. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

"  Great  Hopes  :"  foaled  1854,  died  1875. 

Nay,  reader,  don't  start  at  the  title, 

'Tis  of  only  a  horse — nothing  more ; 
Only  one  of  the  lower  creation. 

Whose  loss  'tis  my  lot  to  deplore. 
"  Only  a  horse  !  well,  what  matters  ?" 

Quoth  Dives ;  "  'tis  done  in  a  trice : 
Draw  a  cheque — the  best  horse  that  e'er  hunted 

Can  always  be  bought  at  a  price." 

Ah !  Dives,  men  envy  your  fortune, 

Tou  are  floating  through  life  with  the  stream ; 
Tou  have  got  twenty  hunters  at  Melton, 

And  the  pride  of  the  Park  is  your  team ; 
But  I  want  just  to  ask  you  a  question, 

So  kindJy  one  moment  attend  : 
Be  it  man,  be  it  woman,  or  horse. 

Can  you  ever  replace  an  old  friend  ? 


102 


Such  a  friend  as  we  owe  now  and  then 

To  the  sympathies  born  of  the  chase ; 
Eaising  horse  to  the  level  of  rider — 

Such  a  friend  we  can  never  replace. 
The  box  that  stands  empty  and  chill 

May  shelter  as  perfect  a  frame, 
But  'twill  always  seem  sacred  to  him — 

'Twill  always  be  called  by  his  name. 

Chesnut  coat,  sloping  shoulders,  small  head ; 

Legs  that  feared  neither  spavin  nor  sprains ; 
A  mudlark  when  going  was  deep, 

With  the  blood  of  Small  Hopes  in  his  veins. 
When  Andover  landed  the  Derby 

The  theme  of  my  song  first  drew  breath, 
And,  as  good  on  the  road  as  the  grass. 

Hunted  up  to  the  day  of  his  death. 

He  had  gone  with  the  Queen's,  when  Charles  Davis 

With  horn  made  the  forest  to  ring ; 
He  remembered  the  bay  Pantaloon, 

Bestridden  by  bold  Harry  King. 
Since  the  day  of  that  clipper  from  Denham, 

How  many  good  men  have  departed, 
When  to  Willesdon  we  ran  in  the  hour. 

And  Harrow  Boy  first  was  uncarted. 

Not  unknown  where  the  doubles  of  Blackmore 

Lay  many  a  steed  on  his  back ; 
He  had  followed  Jack  Eussell  from  Catstock 

With  Poltimore's  wonderful  pack. 
How  oft  with  old  Sam  and  Sir  Maurice 

O'er  Berkeley's  green  pastures  he  strode, 
Heard  the  cheer  of  the  keen  Harry  Ayris, 

Best  huntsman,  I  wot,  that  e'er  rode. 


103 


But  dearest  of  all  recollections — 

Old  days  now  recalled  to  my  view — 
Are  those  when  we  hunted  together 

In  the  land  of  the  Badminton  Blue  : 
The  days  of  John  Bayly  and  Triller ; 

(What  tales  of  their  prowess  are  told !) 
The  days  of  the  Merchant  and  Bobber; 

The  day  ere  grey  Beckford  was  foaled  ; 

When  the  Unicorn  stood  by  the  Lion, 

And  Little  was  there  on  Champagne ; 
When  the  Colonel  was  great  on  Blue  Pill, 

And  Clark  swore  by  Saffron  and  Jane ; 
When  Methuselah  carried  the  Marquis 

Thro'  the  longest  and  hardest  of  days ; 
When  Alderley's  gallant  old  owner 

Bode  the  first  of  his  wonderful  greys. 

Unwelcome,  perhaps,  to  the  fair  ones, 

Is  the  tale  of  what  seasons  have  flown, 
Since  they  first  donned  the  Badminton  button. 

And  the  "  goddesses  "  yet  were  unknown  : 
Lady  Blanche  was  the  rising  Diana, 

And  one  figure  remembered  will  be. 
That  skimmed  o'er  the  country  on  "Sunbeam," 

With  Jack  Savile  in  front  on  B.  B. 

"Woe  worth,"  wrote  Sir  Walter,  "the  chase," 

When  he  sung  of  the  hunting  that  kills ; 
Woe  worth  forty  minutes'  full  pace. 

From  Allen  Grove  up  to  the  hills. 
'Twas  my  gallant  old  horse's  last  efiTort — 

'Twas  a  mixture  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
In  that  gallop  where  G-race's  "  blaze  chesnut " 

Jumped  walls,  and  ne'er  jumped  them  again. 


104 


Farewell,  gentle  reader !     If  you 

These  tales  of  past  sport  can  endorse, 
I  will  wish  you  no  better  than  this, 

That  some  day  you  may  own  such  a  horse. 
His  name  is  inscribed  underneath ; 

His  years  were  one  over  a  score ; 
He  was  faithful  and  noble  till  death ; 

His  like  I  shall  ride  nevermore. 

From  Baily's  Magazii^e. 


A   DAY   WITH   THE   QUEEN'S    HOUNDS, 
Feom  Poll  Hill,  Feb.,  1843. 

Here's  a  health  to  Frank  Groodricke,  (i)  of   Pytchley 

the  pride ; 
Here's  a  health  to  gay  G-ardner,  (2)  fam'd  Melton's  chief 

crack ; 
Here's  a  health  to  the  high-hearted  sportsmen  who  ride 
Over  Cheshire's  deep  fields  with  Jack  White's  (3)  gallant 

pack ; 

Here's  a  health  to  the  Scarlett  (4)  that  gloriously  shines 
In  the  front  of  each  field,  where  crack  hunting  is  seen ; 
But  the  toast  that  best  honours  a  bumper  of  wine 
Is  "  Success  to  the  staghounds,  and  long  live  the  Queen." 

T-welve  o'clock  was  the  hour,  the  meet  was  Poll  Hill — 
Noble  "  Hampton"  had  long  been  reserved  for  that  day ; 
Close  at  hand  stood  the  hounds,  all  expectant  and  still. 
And  thick  gathered  round  them  the  brave  and  the  gay. 


Sir  Francis  Holyoake  Goodricke.  2.    Lord  Gardner. 

3.    Captain  John  White.        4.    Sir  James  Scarlett. 


105 


There  was  Eosslyn,  (5)  the  rough,  with  the  kindest  of 

hearts ; 
There  was  gallant  young  Cambridge,  (6)  the  loved  of  the 

land; 
And,  as  beauty  from  valour  and  worth  never  parts, 
Fair  Theobald  rode  at  the  Prince's  right  hand. 

There  was  Makepeace,  (7)  the  merry,  and  Worley,  the 

neat, 
Dicky  Vyse,  thro'  the  water  that  swims  like  a  duck. 
And  blithe-hearted  Seymour,  (8)  a  sportsman  complete, 
Only  somehow  this  season  he  is  not  in  luck. 

There  was  well-mounted  Wankelyn,  and  hare-hunting 

Poole ; 
Little  Harford  was  there,  too,  that  thinks  he  can  ride ; 
Honest  James,  a  true  sportsman,  courageous  and  cool ; 
Long  Cox,  (9)  and  a  hundred  good  fellows  beside. 

From  Windsor,  from    Hounslow,  came  guardsmen  at 

score, 
Bright  souls  never  dimm'd  with  the  vapours  of  fear ; 
Lucas  (10)  and  Ogilvie,  Holmes  and  Balfour, 
And  E-icards,  that  thinks  of  himself  no  small  beer. 

Time's  up  !  lay  them  on — off  like  lightning  they  fly ! 
Grrasps  his  rein,  grips  his  saddle  each  hard-riding  man ; 
And  loudly  rings  Davis's  (u)  voice  thro'  the  sky, 
''Now  catch  'em,  ride  over  my  beauties,  who  can." 


5.    Lord  Rosslyn,  master  of  the  buckhounds. 

6.    The  present  Duke  of  Cambridge. 

7.    A  leading  man  with  the  Queen's.        8.    '*  Neighbour  Sej^mour." 

g.    The  banker. 

10.    Lucas,  2nd  Life  Guards  ;    Ogilvie,  ditto  ;    Balfour,  of  Newton  Don. 

II.    Davis,  the  Queen's  huntsman. 


106 


Twenty  minutes  have  passed — Harrow  steeple  is  near — 
And  of  the  three  hundred  that  met  at  Poll  Hill, 
Like  a  regiment  that's  broke  by  the  foeman,  I  fear, 
But  thirty  are  left  that  can  live  the  pace  still. 

In  Euishp's  deep  meadows  some  come  to  a  stand ; 
By  Pinner's  high  fences  some  find  their  course  barr'd ; 
And  a  loud  swearing  rustic,  with  pitchfork  in  hand, 
Has  pounded  fat  Hawkins  fast  in  a  farm  yard. 

"  My  horse  lacks  condition  " — "  Pve  lost  a  fore  shoe" — 
"  Our  efforts  to  catch  them  are  hopeless  and  vain ;" 
"  I  really  believe  the  best  thing  we  can  do 
Is,  in  hopes  of  a  check,  to  jog  on  in  the  lane." 

Now  Northolt,  now  Grreenford,  are  left  far  behind ; 
Twyford  Abbey  we've  reached  in  our  glorious  career. 
Still  unflagging  in  strength,  still  unfailing  in  wind, 
Over  hill,  over  dale  flies  the  matchless  old  deer. 

O  Elmore  !  (12)  O  Anderson  !  how  could  ye  say 
Of  the  horses  ye  sold  us  the  thing  that  was  not  ? 
Piccadilly's  proud  cattle  are  dying  away, 
And  TJxendon's  flyers  drop  down  to  a  trot. 

Macdonough,  (13)  and  Mason,  and  Bardolph-nosed  Bean — 
Of  steeplechase  riders  at  first  we  had  plenty. 
'Tis  one  thing  to  go  for  ten  minutes,  I  ween ; 
'Tis  another  to  go  for  two  hours  and  tw^enty. 

Stout  Stanley,  (14)  bold  Errington,  gallant  Southampton, 
Clauricarde,  the  dashing,  and  Pembroke,  the  kind, 
Over  Harrow's  deep  meadows  in  chase  of  fleet  Hampton — 
'Tis  the  pace  that  has  left  the  foxhunters  behind. 

12.    Elmore  and  Anderson,  horse  dealers. 
13.    Celebrated  steeplechase  riders.        14.    Celebrated  riders  to  hounds. 


107 


'Tis  done  !  the  brave  quarry  is  hoiis'd  safe  and  sound, 
Eegent's  Park  to  the  long  lasting  chase  puts  an  end ; 
And  of  all  the  rare  runs  with  this  pack  so  renowned, 
A  faster  and  finer  one  never  was  penned. 

l^i]l,  fill  up  your  glasses ;  a  toast  I  propose — 
No  heeltaps,  no  daylight,  no  shirking  be  seen ; 
"  Here's  a  health  to  Lord  Kosslyn,  wherever  he  goes ; 
Here's  success  to  the   staghounds,  and  long  live  the 
Queen." 

From  Col.  Ansteuther  Thomson. 


HUNTINa  IN  DUEHAM. 

Old  fighting  Durham  !  stubborn  border  land  ! 
Leagued  with  thy  sister,  fair  Northumberland ! 
From  thy  time  honour'd  battlements  we  trace, 
From  blood  to  blood,  an  honour'd  sportsman's  race — 
Thro'  Grindon,  Carlton,  Hartburn,  to  Fox-hill, 
The  name  of  Lambton  *  is  re-echoed  still ! 

If  I  could  live  one  hundred  thousand  years 

Amid  this  vale  of  sorrow  and  of  tears, 

Dash  from  my  brow  each  cankering  thought  and  be 

What  once  I  was,  in  youth  and  jollity  ! 

At  all  Fortuna's  coldest,  hardest  knocks, 

I'd  sneer,  if  Hartburn  Grange  holds  in  her  gorse  a  fox  I 


*The  celebrated  Ralph  Lambton. 


108 


Still  as  a  whisper  !  no  d — d  loud  hollo  ! 

Nor  cursed  clodpole  roaring,  Tallyho  ! 

No,  not  one  word  !  Now  then,  ye  hunters  fleet ! 

The  hounds  are  on  him  like  a  winding  sheet : 

Kide  o'er  them  ye  who  can  !  their  dappled  sides  ride  over, 

Burnhope  and  Elton,  straight  for  Oxeye  cover ! 

For  him  the  ox-eyed  goddess  hath  no  charm — 
See,  on  the  road  the  ruthless  furies  swarm 
All  in  a  patch  !  just  look  !  nay,  never  wait — 
Crash  goes  the  top-bar  of  that  ill-hung  gate ! 
By  Jove !  they're  on  him,  see  old  Venus  strive — 
Have  at  him,  beauties  !  Eive  his  life  out,  rive. 

G.  M.  SlJTTON. 


THE  LAMBTON  HOUNDS. 

A  SoKG. 
Tune — ""Weave  a   G-aeland." 

Tho'  midnight  her  dark  frowning  mantle  is  spreading, 

Yet  time  flies  unheeded  where  Bacchus  resides  ; 
Eill,  fill  then,  your  glasses,  his  power  ne'er  dreading. 

And  drink  to  the  hounds  o'er  which  Lambton  presides ; 
Tho'  toast  after  toast  with  great  glee  has  been  given, 

The  highest  top-sparkling  bumper  decides 
That,  for  stoutness,  pace,  beauty,  on  this  side  of  heaven, 

Unrivalled  the  hounds  o'er  which  Lambton  presides ! 
Then  drink  to  the  fox-hounds. 
Those  high-mettled  fox-hounds ; 
We'll  drink  to  the  hounds  o'er  which  Lambton  presides. 


109 


Let  Uckerby  boast  of  the  feats  of  the  Kaby, 

And  Kavenscar  tell  what  the  Hur worth  have  done, 
But  the  wide-spreading  pastures  of  Sadberge  can  swear  to 
The  brushes  our  fleet  pack  of  fox -hounds  have  won  : 
Tben  that  Sedgefield,  our  country,  all  countries  outvies, 
sir, 
The  highest  top  sparkling  bumper  decides, 
That  we've  foxes  can  fly,  sir,  or  sinking  must  die,  sir, 
When  pressed  by  the  hounds  o'er  which   Lambton 
presides ! 

Then  drink  to  the  fox-hounds, 
Those  high-mettled  fox-hounds ; 
We'll  drink  to  the  hounds  o'er  which  Lambton  presides. 

Of  their   heart- bursting  "flys"  let  the  Leicestershire 
tell  us. 
Their  plains,  their  ox-fences,  and  that  sort  of  stuff ; 
But  give  me  a  day  with  the  Sedgefield  brave  fellows, 

Where  horses  ne'er  flinch,  or  men  cry  'hold,  enough  ;' 
While  the  blood  of  Old  Csssar  our  foxes  can  boast,  sir. 

May  Lambton  their  only  dread  enemy  be ; 
And  the  green  weaving  whins  of  our  covers  my  toast,  sir — 
Oh!  the  hounds  and  the  blood  of  old  Lambton  for  me! 
Then  drink  to  the  foxhounds, 
Those  high-mettled  foxhounds  ; 
We'll  drink  to  the  hounds  o'er  which  Lambton  presides. 

G.    M.    SuTTON". 


4g%^. 


110 


A  FEW  GOOD  EUNS  WITH  FEANK  GILLAKD. 

1871  to  1878. 

February  15th. — Met  at  Croxton  Park.  A  large 
field  assembled,  and  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Rutland  gave 
the  order  to  draw  Coston  Covert ;  and  no  sooner  were 
hounds  put  into  it,  than  three  or  four  foxes  were  afoot. 
One  bolder  than  the  rest  quickly  went  away  southwards ; 
the  pack  was  not  long  in  getting  away  after  him,  and  it 
soon  became  evident  that  there  was  a  scent.  Passing 
just  to  the  left  of  "Wymondham  and  Edmondthorpe,  at  a 
rattling  pace,  we  bore  round  for  Woodwell  Head,  which 
covert  this  good  fox  disdained  to  enter,  leaving  it  to 
our  right  hand,  and  the  pace  continued  first-rate.  We 
were  not  long  ere  we  reached  Gunby  Gorse,  through  it 
like  a  shot,  and  from  this  point  we  made  as  straight 
as  we  could  go  for  Morkery  Wood,  no  one  going  better 
than  the  Duke,  though  there  were  many  more  in  the  front 
rank.  A  few  fields  before  reaching  the  North  Eoad, 
the  hounds  were  in  the  same  field  with  their  fox, 
and  were  gaining  upon  him  so  fast,  that  it  looked 
fifty  to  one  upon  a  kill  then  and  there ;  and  Custance, 
the  jockey,  made  so  certain  of  it,  he  asked  me  for  the 
brush ;  and  reynard  might  have  heard  the  request,  for 
he  put  on  a  spurt,  and  reached  Morkery  Wood  in  safety, 
in  which  scent  was  not  quite  so  good,  which  enabled 
him  to  dodge  about  for  forty  or  fifty  minutes ;  and  as 
there  were  fresh  foxes  seen,  it  was  feared  our  run  one 
would  beat  the  hounds,  but  they  stuck  to  him,  eventually 
driving  him  out  away  past  Mickley  Wood  to  the  east 
corner  of  Witham  Wood.  Instead  of  entering  it,  this 
cunning  old  customer  ran  along  just  on  the  outside 
until  reaching  the  south  corner,  and  away  over  the 
North  Eoad  by  N.  Witham,  after  which  we  were  brought 


Ill 


to  slow  hunting ;  but  with  great  perseverance  on  the 
part  of  the  hounds,  we  reached  Gunby  AYarren,  where 
we  killed  this  stout  fox,  after  running  upwards  of  three 
hours. 

January  26th,  1872. — Met  at  Haverholme  Priory. 
An  excellent  day's  sport — two  good  runs,  both  ending 
with  blood.  The  first  run  commenced  from  Eveden 
Wood,  ending  at  Swarby.  This  was  a  splendid  gallop, 
in  which  Sir  Thomas  Whichcote  certainly  had  the  best 
of  it.  He  was  in  front  of  a  hard-riding  field  most  of 
the  way,  and,  with  but  few,  saw  the  pack  run  into  their 
fox.  Time,  forty-seven  minutes ;  distance,  from  point 
to  point,  six  miles — much  further  the  way  hounds  ran. 
Second  gallop  started  from  Osbournby  Hill  Top.  Ean 
to  Aswarby  Thorns,  then  in  a  backward  direction  as  far 
as  Aswarby  Park  ;  from  thence  straight  away  by  Silk 
Willoughby  and  Quarrington  to  Eauceby,  when  our 
fox  ran  right  away  back  on  his  foil  to  Aswarby  Park, 
and  we  killed  him  in  the  shrubbery  by  the  gardens,  thus 
ending  a  fine  day's  sport.  Time  of  this  run,  an  hour 
and  twenty  minutes.  Sir  Thomas  Whichcote  declared 
it  was  the  best  day's  sport  he  had  seen  for  a  great 
number  of  years,  and  thought  the  first  gallop  the  best 
he  had  seen  since  Goosey's  time. 

January  14th,  1873.— Met  at  Bottesford.  A  fine 
scenting  day,  which  resulted  in  excellent  sport.  Our 
first  draw  was  Normanton  little  cover,  and  a  fox  being 
at  home,  hounds  were  soon  at  work  in  good  earnest ; 
but  in  spite  of  this,  reynard  stuck  to  his  snug  covert  for 
five  minutes,  when  away  he  went  to  the  left  of  JS'orman- 
ton  village,  after  which  he  turned  first  one  way  and  then 
another,  but  all  to  no  purpose,  the  pack  was  able  to  turn 


112 


equally  quick  and  sharp.  On  nearly  reaching  the 
Debdales,  the  fox  found  out  it  was  no  use  twisting 
about  any  longer,  so  he  shot  away  to  the  right,  crossing 
the  Nottingham  and  Grantham  railway,  and  over  the 
river  Devon,  and  straight  for  Scrimshaw's  mill,  when  he 
suddenly  changed  his  course  by  turning  sharp  round 
past  Muston,  leaving  it  away  to  the  left,  re-crossed  the 
river  Devon,  on  to  and  through  Shipman's  plantation, 
close  past  Breeder  Hills,  when  our  fox  was  viewed  by 
the  field  only  a  field  ahead  of  the  hounds,  and  they 
were  not  long  then  in  racing  into  him ;  caught  him  just 
before  reaching  "Woolsthorpe  wharf,  thus  ending  as  fast 
a  gallop  as  I  ever  saw,  lasting  thirty-five  minutes. 
Hounds  did  not  require  the  least  assistance  from  begin- 
ning to  the  finish.  As  good  a  gallop  as  this  was,  it 
proved  only  a  pipe-opener  for  a  fox,  who  was  found  at 
Jericho,  going  straight  away  past  Elton  and  Orston  at 
a  pace  quite  fast  enough  over  those  ploughs  for  the 
horses  to  keep  with  them.  Getting  on  to  the  grass, 
they  raced  on  passed  Thoroton,  and  forward  to  the 
Coronation  cover  (Flintham),  where  we  unfortunately 
changed  to  a  fresh  fox,  but  scent  being  so  good,  and 
our  horses  a  bit  pumped,  nothing  could  be  done  to  right 
matters  ;  all  we  could  do  was  to  keep  pegging  away;  and 
on  reaching  the  lied  Lodge,  a  turn  took  us  by  Screveton 
and  Scarrington  to  Whatton,  when  it  became  dark;  and 
with  difiiculty  we  succeeded  in  stopping  hounds,  thus 
ending  a  real  good  and  very  hard  day  for  both  hounds 
and  horses.  Mr.  George  Drummond  was  the  only 
gentleman  to  get  to  the  end  of  this  good  run. 

January  6th,  1875. — Met  at  Piper  Hole.  A  fox 
found  at  Clawson  Thorns,  did  not  give  much  sport;  our 
next  was  found  at  Harby  Hills,  and  was  run  over  the 


113 


vale  to  Hose  Gorse  and  lost.  Sherbrooke's  gorse  was 
then  called  upon,  and  it  supplied  us  with  a  good  stout 
fox,  who  went  away  over  the  Smite  as  bold  as  a  lion,  and 
getting  a  good  start  after  him,  hounds  ran  tremendously 
hard  for  forty-five  minutes,  without  a  check.  The  line 
which  we  ran  was  pretty  straight  as  far  as  Widmerpool 
New  Inn,  being  just  to  the  left  of  Hickling,  and  over 
Hickling  Standard,  through  Parson's  Thorns  without 
dwelling,  and  straight  for  the  New  Inn.  Then  he 
turned  for  Kinoulton  Gorse,  through  it,  and  straight  to 
and  through  Owthorpe  Borders  to  the  JVJain  Earths 
(this  was  reached  in  the  time  above  mentioned,  viz., 
forty-five  minutes,  and  out  of  a  large  field  very  few 
were  to  be  seen  with  hounds,  many  coming  to  grief). 
Fortunately  hounds  were  stopped,  and  reynard  then 
made  straight  for  Hoe  Hill,  but  some  boatmen  on  the 
canal  prevented  him  from  going  into  the  covert,  and, 
being  only  a  field  ahead,  it  seemed  a  certainty  we  should 
kill  him  directly ;  but  this  game  fox  struggled  on  field 
after  field,  to  the  left  of  Eatcliffe,  and  then  for  Cotgrave 
Gorse,  and  it  being  quite  dark,  we  knew  not  what  had 
happened,  whether  hounds  killed  their  fox,  or  ran  him 
to  ground,  but  it  was  one  or  the  other.  We  were 
afterwards  informed  many  of  the  Melton  horses  were 
left  out  all  night  in  the  AVidmerpool  country. 

April  12th,  1876.— Belvoir.  Splendid  finale  to  the 
season,  on  the  Leicestershire  side.  Through  a  heavy 
snowstorm  we  failed  to  do  any  good  with  a  fox  which 
was  found  on  Saltley  Heath,  but  late  in  the  afternoon 
we  found  a  good  one  in  Bescaby  Oaks,  who  first  of  all 
took  a  turn  over  Croxton  Park,  when  away  he  went  past 
Sproxton  Thorns  and  Coston  Village  to  Coston  Covert, 
and  through  it,  without  dwelling  a  moment.     Up  to  this 


114 


point  the  pace  had  not  been  very  severe,  though  we  always 
had  to  keep  pegging  away ;  but  after  getting  clear  of 
the  last-named  covert,  hounds  raced  past  Wymondham, 
then,  bearing  to  the  left,  made  for  Woodwell  Head,  but 
no  dwelling  there.  By  the  time  we  galloped  to  the 
south  end,  the  pack  was  streaming  away  towards 
Cottesmore  Grorse,  just  skirted  it,  and  ran  round  by 
Teighj  and  killed  near  Edmondthorpe,  thus  making  a  good 
finish  to  a  capital  run  of  something  over  two  hours. 
Distance,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  Croxton  Park  to 
Cottesmore  Gorse,  is  ten  miles.  Those  whom  I  noticed 
to  the  end  were  Miss  Miles,  (who  was  on  a  visit  at 
Belvoir  Castle,  and  was  riding  a  horse  of  his  Grace's,) 
Captain  Longstafte,  Mr.  John  Hardy,  Mr.  Turner 
Farley,  Mr.  James  Hutchinson,  Captain  King,  and  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Mirehouse. 

January  22nd,  1877. — Easton  Hall.  Eound  at  Easton 
Wood,  and  ran  a  ring  first  of  all  round  by  Burton 
Sleights  and  Stoke  Park  Wood,  turning  back  to  where 
we  found,  and  then  changed  to  a  fresh  fox,  who  led  us  a 
nice  dance,  or  rather  gave  us  a  splendid  run.  He  went 
away  much  the  same  line  as  the  first  fox,  but  instead  of 
entering  Stoke  Park  Wood,  he  skirted  it,  and  crossed 
over  the  railway,  and  away  for  Boothby — hounds  run- 
ning through  like  shots  and  away  like  a  flock  of  pigeons 
for  Humby  Woods,  passing  just  to  the  right  of  them. 
We  rattled  along  and  soon  crossed  the  famous  Lenton 
Brook,  and  leaving  the  village  to  our  right,  we  ran  for 
Keisby  Wood,  just  running  through  the  north  corner, 
when  we  were  fairly  landed  in  the  finest  country  in  the 
Belvoir  hunt,  going  as  straight  as  we  could  go  for 
Aslackby  village.  A  field  or  so  before  reaching  it  we 
were  in  the  same  field  with  our  fox,  and  it  looked  fifty 


115 


to  one  on  a  kill  then  and  there,  but  unfortunately  a  large 
flock  of  sheep  were  running  between  the  fox  and  the 
pack,  which  not  only  prevented  a  view,  but  the  sheep 
molested  the  hounds  by  running  all  amongst  them, 
which  enabled  the  fox  to  reach  Aslackby  village,  and  the 
natives  then  took  up  the  chase  as  long  as  they  could 
view  him.  This  circumstance  bothered  us  more  than 
the  flock  of  sheep,  and  some  minutes  were  lost  before 
we  recovered  the  line,  and  when  we  did,  hounds  could 
never  do  much  more  good ;  still  we  hunted  on  by  fits 
and  starts  past  Dowsby,  and  away  over  the  Fen  district 
to  within  two  miles  of  the  I  orty  Foot.  Distance,  as 
the  crow  flies,  is  not  less  than  fourteen  miles,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  run  over  a  finer  line  of  country. 

March  17th,  1877.— Three  Queens.  The  Heath 
coverts  all  proved  tenantless,  but  we  found  a  good  fox 
at  Buckminster,  who  made  away  over  Saltby  Heath, 
thence  by  Wyville  to  Stoke  Rochford  Park,  and  from 
thence  away  between  Skilhngton  and  Woolsthorpe  to 
G-unby  Warren,  to  ground.  Some  fields  before  reach- 
ing this  covert,  we  several  times  viewed  our  fox  just 
ahead  of  the  pack,  and  he  was  dead  beaten.  Just  at 
this  critical  moment  a  very  dark  cloud  passed  over  us, 
when  there  was  not  a  particle  of  scent,  which  enabled 
reynard  to  reach  the  earths  in  safety.  The  time  of 
this  good  sporting  run  was  an  hour  and  forty-five 
minutes ;  distance,  about  fourteen  miles.  Lord  Gran- 
ville, Lord  Wolverton,  and  Major  Whyte-Melville  were 
out ;  the  latter  gentleman  expressed  himself  to  me  as 
being  very  pleased  with  the  sport. 

December  12th,  1877.— The  House,  Melton  Mow- 
bray.     This  day  will   be  remembered  as  the  "Pink 


116 


wedding  day."  His  Grace  arranged  for  the  hounds  to 
meet  in  honour  of  the  marriage  of  Mr.  Cecil  Samuda  and 
Miss  Cecile  Markham.  The  Duke  of  Rutland  and  , 
members  of  the  hunt  went  to  church  in  hunting  costume, 
and  after  the  grand  ceremony  and  breakfast  were  over, 
a  very  large  field  accompanied  the  i^ack  to  Burbidge's 
cover,  where  a  fox  was  found,  who  proved  quite  equal 
to  the  occasion.  A  crowd  of  foot-hunters  had  stationed 
themselves  on  the  high  ground  overlooking  the  cover, 
and  bold  reynard  swam  the  river  and  ran  through  their 
very  midst.  Once  clear  of  them  he  ran  a  bee  line,  with 
the  hounds  pretty  close  to  his  brush,  away  b}'  Burton 
Lazars,  Berry  Gorse,  Laxton's  Spinney,  crossed  the 
Whissendine  brook,  and  passed  just  to  the  right  of  the 
village,  and  from  thence,  forward  nearly  to  Ranksboro' 
Gorse,  then  wheeled  round,  running  by  the  Punch  Bowl 
and  Wheat  Hill  planting.  Here  there  were  two  or  three 
foxes,  but  the  pack  stuck  to  their  game  fox,  who  made 
his  way  back  by  Wild's  Lodge  and  Burton,  to  ground, 
by  the  Dalby  Road  near  Melton.  Time,  an  hour  and 
fifty-three  minutes ;  a  good  sporting  run. 

March  6th,  1878. — Ash  Wednesday.  Met  at  Piper 
Hole.  In  a  gale  of  wind  we  ran  a  fox  from  Holwell 
Mouth  at  a  rattling  pace,  away  over  the  vale,  and  passed 
to  the  right  of  Nether  Broughton,  and  forward  for  some 
distance  in  a  direct  line  for  Hickling,  when  we  wheeled 
round,  running  between  the  two  Broughtons,  and 
nearly  reached  Old  Dalby,  when  a  turn,  right 
handed,  took  us  over  the  hill ;  after  which,  we  took  a 
straight  line  for  Willoughby-on-the- Wolds,  killing  our 
fox  close  to  the  village.  Time,  one  hour  after  leaving 
Holwell  Mouth. 

On  Ash  Wednesday,  1867 — From  Clawson  Thorns 
we  ran  over  nearly  the  same  line  of  country,  and  then 
killed  close  to  Willoughby. 


117 


March  29th,  1878.— Met  at  Weaver's  Lodge.  For 
the  first  time  this  season  his  Grace  hunted  with  his 
hounds  on  the  Lincolnshire  side  of  the  country,  and  we 
were  lucky  enough  to  have  a  real  good  hunting  run, 
which  was  quite  unexpected  through  the  very  dry 
weather.  There  were  no  less  than  two  and  a  half  brace 
of  foxes  at  Newton  Woods,  and,  strange  to  say,  the 
one  I  viewed  away  in  front  of  the  pack,  I  remarked, 
was  our  Hose  Gorse  fox,  who  had,  during  the  season, 
given  us  three  nice  gallops  from  that  cover,  in  the 
direction  of  Croxton  Park  ;  and  it  appears  I  was  right, 
for  he  ran  almost  a  straight  line  for  Croxton  Park, 
though  he  ran  us  out  of  scent  between  Wyville  and 
Stoke  Pasture.  The  line  was  away  through  Haydon's 
Southings,  Ropsley  Pvise,  Ponton  Park  wood,  crossing 
the  Great  Northern  Railway  between  the  Pontons,  and 
passing  to  the  left  of  the  school  Plats  to  where  he  beat 
us.     Distance,  eleven  miles  as  the  crow  flies. 

P.    GiLLAED. 


A  SEASON'S  SPORT  WITH  THE  QUOKN. 

T  o  covert,  brave  sportsmen,  on  on,  and  away ! 
H  ark  !  hark  !  to  the  cry  of  the  hounds  ! 
E  ach  one  in  his  musical  note  seems  to  say  : 

Q  uick !  for'ard,  my  comrades !  we  mean  it  to-day, 

TJ  ntil  the  death  holloa  resounds  ! 

O  ne  shake  of  his  toilet,  the  bold,  but  the  sly 

R  eynard  takes  up  the  cue,  and  he  sails — 

N  ow  to  bafile  and  beat  them  his  hardest  he'll  try. 

H  ave  at  him,  my  beauties,  as  onward  we  fly 
O  ver  hedges  and  ditches  and  rails ; 
U  p  hill  or  down  dale,  through  woodlands,  o'er  rill, 
N  0  matter  what  comes  in  the  line, 
D  0  your  best  to  be  with  'em,  your  motto  be  still, 
"  S  traight  forward  "  to  the  ending  of  time  ! 


118 


The  season  of  1883-4  commenced  on  Monday, 
November  5th,  at  Kirbj  Gate,  as  nsual.  There  was, 
as  may  be  expected,  a  large  field  out,  and  many  carriages 
and  other  vehicles  well  filled,  all  bent  on  seeing  as  much 
of  the  fun  as  possible.  Fortune  invariably  favours  the 
Kirby  Gate  meet,  and  this  was  no  exception,  for  a  good 
fox  was  found  in  Gartree  Hill,  who  went  away  like  wild- 
fire, at  a  minute's  notice,  over  the  Burton  flats, 
then  round  to  the  right  by  Leesthorpe,  Wheathill 
spinney,  and  into  the  shrubberies  at  Little  Dalby,  where 
many  of  the  sportsmen  were  left,  this  being  such  an  awk- 
ward place  to  get  away  from  on  account  of  the  wire 
fencing  which  runs  around  it.  Hounds  were  quickly 
away,  and  hunted  their  fox  beautifully  back  by  Wheat- 
hills,  Berry  Gorse,  and  on  past  Whissendine,  thence  by 
Ashwell  (having  ran  within  a  few  fields  of  !Ranksborough 
Gorse)  to  Teigh,  where  he  was  rolled  over  in  among  the 
cabbages  in  a  cottage  garden,  after  a  really  nice  run  of 
an  hour  and  twenty  minutes.  Being  a  long  way  in  the 
Cottesmore  country,  we  had  a  good  trot  back  for  another 
draw.  A  sharp  twenty  minutes  from  Thorpe  Trussells, 
ending  the  day  close  to  Mr.  Chaplin's  house  at  Burrow 
Hills. 

On  Friday,  November  16th. — Baggrave  Hall.  The 
first  time  of  meeting  here  since  the  lamented  death  of 
poor  General  Burnaby.  A  leash  of  foxes  were  in  the 
covert ;  hounds  quickly  killed  one,  and  went  away  with 
another — being  close  at  him,  they  ran,  at  an  awful  pace, 
a  ring  by  Hungerton  and  back ;  then,  passing  the  hall, 
took  us  over  a  nice  line  of  country,  by  Thimble  Hall,  and, 
leaving  Twyford  on  the  right,  crossed  the  brook  (which 
brought  the  usual  fun  and  grief),  and  then  ran  pretty 
direct  to  Thorpe  Trussells,  away  without  dwelling  a 


119 


second,  and  then,  turning  to  the  left  hand,  they  ran 
through  Ashby  Pastures  and  Cream  Grorse,  the  fox  going 
to  ground  just  beyond.     Time,  forty-five  minutes. 

Priday,  23rd. — Eearsby  was  the  fixture.  After  a 
gallop  in  the  morning  to  ground,  we  found  as  good  a  fox 
as  ever  ran  in  Barkby  Holt,  and  such  a  scent  did  he 
leave,  that  hounds  quickly  ran  away  from  almost  every 
horse.  He  was  a  wonderful  fine  fox,  and  could  be 
plainly  seen  now  and  then  about  a  couple  of  fields  ahead. 
Kunning  to  the  right  of  South  Croxton,  he  turned  up  to 
Baggrave,  and,  darting  through  the  covert  like  a  shot, 
he  passed  the  hall,  hounds  racing  as  if  they  had  him  all 
the  time  in  view,  and  everyone  riding  apparently  for 
their  very  lives ;  in  fact,  I  hardly  ever  remember  seeing 
a  field  so  determined  and  yet  so  quickly  squandered. 
The  beautiful  grass  valley  by  Car  Bridge  and  Lowesby 
was  crossed  at  a  terrific  pace,  and  when  Springfield 
Hill  was  reached,  a  half-dozen  horsemen  alone  were  in 
sight.  It  is  my  belief  that  foxes  were  changed  here, 
for  there  was  a  shght  check  on  the  railroad,  down  which 
I  fancy  our  fox  had  gone,  but  a  holloa  just  ahead  took 
hounds  to  it,  and,  catching  up  the  line,  they  ran  past 
Tilton,  thence  by  the  Skeffington  Vale  and  Whatborough 
Hill  to  the  Cottesmore  Woodlands,  just  before  reaching 
which  we  found  that  a  brace  of  foxes  were  in  front,  and 
both  fresh  ones,  so  this  fine  run  ended  without  blood. 
Time  altogether,  about  an  hour,  the  first  half  being  much 
the  quickest. 

Monday,  3rd  December. — Six  Hills.  A  nice  gallop, 
from  Ella's  Gorse  to  ground  in  Shoby  Scholes  occupying 
the  first  part  of  the  day;  after  which,  we  went  to 
Thrussington  Wolds ;  found  at  once,  and  had  a  charm- 


120 


ing  fifty  minutes,  killing  him  in  the  open  near  Long 
Clawson;  the  line  being  first  towards  Six  Hills,  then 
sharp  to  the  right  towards  Shoby  and  Lord  Aylesfiard's 
covert,  keeping  both  just  on  the  right  hand ;  and  after 
pointing  towards  Grimstone,  a  turn  to  the  left  took  us 
by  Old  Dalby  Wood  and  Holwell  Mouth,  and  up  to  the 
Clawson  road,  where  our  fox  was  headed  and  turned 
into  the  Vale — not,  however,  to  travel  far  over  it,  for 
he  was  dead  beat,  and  hounds  getting  a  view  quickly 
after,  rent  his  jacket. 

A  very  fine  hunting  run  was  brought  ofif  on  Saturday, 
December  22nd,  when  the  fixture  was  Costock.  The 
meet  itself  was  a  small  one,  but  late  comers,  including 
several  ladies  and  gentlemen  from  Nottingham,  made 
up  a  good-sized  field  ere  a  fox  was  found.  Among  those 
present,  as  far  as  I  can  now  remember,  were  Mr.  Coup- 
land  and  Mr.  Duncan  Coupland,  Miss  Brooks  (Whatton), 
General  Chippendall,  Mr.  Wm.  Paget,  Mr.  C.  and  Mr. 
A.  Martin,  Mr.  J.  D.  Cradock,  Capt.  Fowke,  Mr.  and 
Miss  Tidmas,  Capt.  O'Neal,  Major  Eobertson,  Mr. 
Cockrayne,  Mr.  G.  Farnham,  Captain  Warner,  Mr.  H. 
and  Mr.  M.  Lewis,  of  Nottingham,  also  Mr.  John 
Robinson  and  his  son,  who  went  wonderfully  well 
through  the  run,  and  saw  almost  as  much  of  it  as  anyone. 

Our  fox  was  found  in  Bunney  Old  Wood,  and  went 
first  towards  Windmill  Hill,  but,  being  headed  (and 
nearly  killed)  he  turned  back,  and  got  clear  away  to  the 
Intake  Wood,  then,  without  dwelling  a  second,  made 
his  point  towards  Wysall.  Mr.  Charles  Martin,  viewing 
him  away,  said,  "  what  a  very  fine  fox  he  was."  Turning 
to  the  right  from  Wysall,  hounds  hunted  him  beautifully 
pretty  direct  to  Prestwold,  taking  Wymeswold  in  the 
line.     On  getting  to  within  a  field  of  Hoton  covert,  a 


121 


very  sHort  and  peculiar  turn  was  made  (it  being  near  here 
that  Major  Eobertson,  in  jumping  through  a  thorn  fence, 
unfortunately  got  struck  in  the  face,  and  lost  an  eye  in 
consequence).  The  turn  mentioned  took  us  short  back 
for  two  or  three  fields  towards  Ella's  Gorse,  then  another 
turn  to  the  right  took  us  slowly  on  by  Burton — scent  at 
this  time  being  bad,  hounds  had  to  keep  their  noses 
down  to  make  it  out  until  after  passing  Walton  Thorns, 
Mr.  Cradock's  ash  spinney,  and  reaching  Mr.  Coupland's 
farm  at  Six  Hills.  A  brace  of  foxes  were  immediately 
after  this  in  front  of  us,  and  it  was  impossible  to  tell 
whether  we  went  on  with  the  right  one  or  not.  Scent 
all  at  once  improved,  and  the  pace  was  really  good  for  the 
next  thirty  minutes.  Old  Dal  by  being  kept  a  field  or  two 
on  the  right  hand,  we  pretty  quickly  reached  Broughton 
station,  near  where  the  railroad  was  crossed,  and  hounds 
pointed  for  Curates  Gorse.  This  latter  covert  was  kept 
some  little  distance  on  the  left,  while  the  pack  swept 
gaily  on,  with  not  more  than  two  or  three  followers  any- 
where near.  I  may  mention,  the  field  began  to  tail 
the  moment  hounds  increased  the  pace  on  Mr.  Coup- 
land's  farm,  and  I  never  saw  a  whipper-in  afterwards  ! 
After  crossing  the  Broughton  road,  on  the  right  of  the 
Curate,  hounds  dipped  into  the  valley,  then,  swinging 
round  to  the  left,  soon  climbed  the  hill  of  Hickling 
Standard,  and  passed  on  the  very  edge  of  Parson's 
Thorns,  but  not  a  hound  entered,  the  hne  being  carried 
on  towards  Kinoulton  Gorse ;  but  about  midway  between 
the  two  they  (the  hounds)  turned  to  the  right,  and  the 
two  villages  of  Hickling  and  Kinoulton  were  passed  and 
left  behind.  Soon  after  this  my  hopes  were  raised  very 
high,  for  I  saw  the  fox,  with  his  back  up,  not  more  than 
a  field  ahead,  and  not  unnaturally  the  thought  of  a 
speedy  termination,  with  a  glorious  kill  in  the  open,  at 


122 


once  crossed  my  mind ;  this,  however,  was  not  to  be, 
although  we  kept  close  at  him  for  some  time  yet  to  come. 
He  having  crossed  the  canal  by  the  swing  bridge,  I  was 
put  off  the  line  for  a  few  valuable  moments  by  two 
labouring  men,  who  said  they  were  quite  sure  he  had 
not  gone  over ;  and,  as  another  instance  of  how  little 
notice  should  be  taken  of  such  people,  the  fox  had 
crossed  under  their  very  feet,  and  they  had  not  seen 
him.  Immediately  after  this  I  got  another  view  at  him, 
crossing  a  stubble  field,  and  luck  was  again  against  me, 
for  Mr.  Coupland,  who  would  no  doubt  have  been  a 
great  help,  got  a  very  nasty  fall  over  a  stile,  and  was 
prevented  coming  on  for  some  little  time.  At  the 
next  road  hounds  again  checked,  the  fox  having  ran 
down  it  for  some  distance,  and  some  traffic  being 
between  him  and  the  hounds,  made  it  more  difficult  for 
them  to  own  the  line.  Three  or  four  fields  further  on, 
and  the  canal  was  again  reached,  at  a  very  sharp  turn 
which  there  is  in  it.  Up  to  this  the  fox  had  ran,  but, 
instead  of  swimming  over,  had  turned  short  to  the  left 
along  the  towing  path,  on  which  he  kept  for  perhaps  a 
half-mile.  Directly  after  leaving  this,  the  Smite  crossed 
our  line,  and,  in  addition  to  the  brook  itself,  there  was 
a  fence  on  the  landing  side,  which  made  it  almost  im- 
possible to  jump  at  that  end  of  the  day.  Having  a  quick 
eye,  Mr.  A.  Martin  soon  saw  a  place  where  the  rail  on 
the  far  bank  could  be  broken,  and  the  brook  being 
narrowish  just  here,  we  landed  over  safely,  and  pounded 
along  after  hounds,  who  were  running  again  very 
smartly  now  in  the  direction  of  Kaye  Wood,  and  eventu- 
ally passed  it  close  by  the  keeper's  house.  Keeping  a 
straight  course  we  were  not  long  in  reaching  Colston 
Bassett,  where  the  fox  had  been  seen  two   minutes 


123 


before,  and  dead  beaten ;  still  he  managed  to  struggle 
on,  and  at  Langar  darkness  was  coming  on  at  such  a 
pace  that  it  was  found  impossible  to  continue  the  pur- 
suit; and  however  richly  hounds  deserved  their  fox, 
they  had  to  be  stopped,  and  come  home  without  him, 
after  hunting  him  for  three  hours  and  forty  minutes  in 
the  most  persevering  manner  possible.  Although  the 
longest  point  would  not  be  more  than  thirteen  miles, 
the  country  crossed  would  not  measiu'e  less  than  t\^-enty- 
three,  and  this  all  grass,  with  the  exception  of  ten  or 
twelve  fields,  and  one  covert  only  touched,  viz.,  Mr. 
Cradock's  ash  spinney,  near  Six  Hills,  near  where  it  is 
most  likely  foxes  were  changed. 

A  short  description  may  be  given  of  a  very  long  run 
which  took  place  on  Monday,  Dec.  31st,  when  the  meet 
was  at  Widmerpool  New  Inn.  There  was  a  good- 
sized  field  out,  and  the  favourite  covert,  Curates  Grorse, 
was  the  order,  where  we  at  once  found.  Going  away 
by  the  meeting  place,  our  fox  then  turned  to  the  left, 
and  ran  parallel  with  the  Fosse  road  as  far  as  Willoughby, 
then  bearing  to  the  left,  re-crossed  it,  and  then  steering 
for  the  Vale,  he  passed  the  Broughtons  and  Mr.  Sher- 
brooke's  covert ;  after  which  he  bore  round  to  the  right, 
and  ran  up  to  the  Wartnaby  hills,  and  passing  Little 
Belvoir  and  Hoi  well  Mouth,  got  again  into  the  vale  by 
Clawson,  from  which  another  turn  took  us  over  the  hiUs, 
this  time  to  keep  straight  ahead.  Having  passed  Grim- 
stone  Gorse  and  Lord  Aylesford's  covert,  we  kept  on 
thence  by  Eagdale,  and  were  soon  afterwards  treated  to 
a  shy  at  the  Hoby  raspers,  at  one  of  which  Count 
Kinsky  got  an  awful  fall,  a  bottom  which  looked  to  be 
eighteen  or  twenty  feet  wide,  with  stake  and  bound 


134 


fence  on  taking  off  side.  He  was  picked  up  insensible, 
but  soon  came  round,  and  joined  hounds  again  after 
they  had  passed  Cossington  Grorse,  and  reached  Sea- 
grave  village.  Hounds  threaded  the  village,  and  then 
pointed  for  Barrow-on-Soar,  but,  turning  again  to  the 
right,  crossed  over  by  Pandy  and  Burton,  got  within  a 
few  fields  of  Wymeswold,  and  were  stopped  in  the  dark 
when  nearing  Old  Dalby.  About  four  gentlemen  only 
got  to  the  end  of  this  run. 

Friday,  Jan.  11th. — Great  Dalby  was  the  meet,  and 
after  running  a  fox  to  ground  at  Leesthorpe,  we  found  in 
Thorpe  Trussells,  and  ran  a  cracker,  the  line  being  by 
Adams'  Gorse,  then  over  the  beautiful  and  good- 
scenting  old  Burrow  hill  steeplechase  course,  thence  to 
the  left  by  Sir  Francis  Burdett's  covert,  Gartree  Hill, 
over  the  Burton  Flats  to  Burbage's  covert,  where  we 
dwelt  not  a  moment,  but  running  straight  through, 
hounds  kept  up  the  pace  towards  Stapleford  Park, 
rolling  their  fox  over  handsomely  when  within  three 
fields  of  it.     Time,  just  over  an  hour. 

Monday,  14th,  was  productive  of  another  good  run  of 
about  the  same  time.  Six  Hills  being  the  meeting  place. 
A  slow  hunt  from  Cossington  Gorse  was  all  that  was 
done  in  the  morning,  when  we  went  on  to  Thrussington 
New  Covert,  and  found  as  fine  a  fox  as  is  often  seen. 
He  went  away  by  Six  Hills,  and  then,  turning  to  the 
right,  got  close  up  to  Shoby  Scholes,  when  another  turn 
to  the  left  took  us  over  the  Wartnaby  road,  and  pointing 
in  the  direction  of  Wymeswold,  from  which  he  turned, 
and  shortly  after  passed  Old  Dalby,  thence  on  by  Lord 
Aylesford's  Covert  and  Shoby,  worked  back  by  Eagdale, 
where  he  was  rolled  over  in  the  open.     The  following 


125 


sketch  will  show  that  he  must  have  been  pretty  stiff,  for 
he  stood  up  perfectly  straight  when  dead,  and  without 


the  slightest  assistance. 


Another  fox  was  found  in  Walton  Thorns,  and  killed  in 
the  open,  in  fifteen  minutes ;  and  another  being  halloa'd 
for'ard  at  the  same  time,  gave  us  a  remarkably  pretty 
gallop,  running  by  Wymes wold,  Ella's  Gorse,  Willoughby, 
Wysall,  and  beat  us  at  or  near  to  Widmerpool  just  as 
darkness  was  coming  on. 

The  thirty-two  minutes  which  was  so  thoroughly 
enjoyed  on  the  day  after  the  Loughborough  ball  should, 
I  think,  be  mentioned  briefly. 

Thursday,  17th  Jan. — Prestwold,  at  12.  Of  course 
there  was  a  much  larger  field  than  is  seen  on  this  side  on 
any  ordinary  occasion.  Our  first  fox  was  found  in 
Willoughby  Gorse,  and  bowled  over  just  before  reaching 
Widmerpool.     Time  of  this  spurt,  fifteen  minutes. 

All  were  pleased  when  the  master  now  gave  the  order 
for  Curates  Gorse,  which  has  been  the  starting  point  of 


126 


so  many  good  runs.  A  fox  was  quickly  found,  but  on 
account  of  the  number  of  people  he  could  not  get  away 
so  quickly  as  usual,  and  indeed  he  was  nearly  chopped, 
through  being  headed  and  turned  back  from  the  road, 
which  was  lined.  Making  his  next  attempt  on  the 
upper  side,  he  got  clear  away,  and  nothing  could  be  more 
lively  than  the  run  which  followed.  After  pointing  for 
Upper  Broughton,  he  swung  round  to  the  left,  crossed 
the  road,  and  dipped  at  once  into  the  valley — hounds 
racing  and  shooting  through  each  succeeding  fence  like 
so  many  arrows.  A  turn  to  the  right  taking  us  under 
both  the  Broughtons,  and  the  brook  which  crossed  our 
path,  had  the  effect  of  thinning  the  field  most  unmistake- 
ably,  one  gentleman  getting  a  fearful  ducking,  his  horse 
walking  about  on  the  top  of  him  while  he  was  under 
water,  and  he  eventually  had  to  ride  home  to  Leicester 
minus  hat,  whip,  and  one  stirrup,  while  a  dozen  or 
fourteen  others  helped  to  fill  its  banks.  Hounds  in  the 
meantime  were  racing  away  and  waiting  for  no  one, 
their  line  being  by  Mr.  Sherbrooke's  Covert,  and  pointing 
their  heads  in  the  direction  of  Kaye  Wood ;  but  again 
turning  to  the  left,  they  wheeled  round,  and  running 
beside  the  canal  up  to  Hickling  village,  they  were  seen, 
fox  and  hounds,  tumbling  over  and  over  down  the  em- 
bankment, when  a  real  hearty  whoo-hoop  rent  the  air. 
Among  others,  Mr.  L.  EoUeston  went  remarkably  well, 
and  was  one  of  the  first  to  see  the  fox  rolled  over. 

On  the  day  following,  viz.,  Friday,  18th,  the  fixtui'e 
was  Quenby  Hall — and  another  grand  day's  sport  was 
the  result.  The  first  fox  was  put  up  in  the  open  by 
foot  people,  but  he  went  to  ground  at  Ingarsby,  and  we 
went  on  to  Botany  Bay.  A  traveller  was  quickly  found, 
and,  dashing  through  the  Coplow,  made  at  once  '*  over 


127 


tlie  hills  and  far  away."  Passing  by  Tomlin's  spinney, 
and  climbing  the  next  hill,  the  pace  was  too  great  for 
the  horses,  and  hounds  literally  ran  away  from  them. 
They  ran  at  a  tremendous  pace,  leaving  Billesdon  on  the 
right,  and  Skeffington  on  the  left,  to  Eolleston.  Time 
up  to  this,  twenty  minutes.  Scent  now  failed  consider- 
ably, and  the  rest  part  was  hunting,  although  at  a  fair 
pace.  A  lot  of  country  was  ran  over  by  Keythorpe  and 
-East  JSTorton,  the  fox  being  finally  killed  in  the  open 
near  Loddington,  in  the  Cottesmore  country,  after 
having  ran  through  a  good  portion  of  Sir  Bache  Cunard's. 
This  made  the  sixth  fox  killed  in  the  open  dunng  the 
last  four  days. 

On  Friday,  Jan.  25th,  the  meet  was  at  Ashby  Folville. 
A  fox  was  found  first  in  Thorpe  Trussells,  and  hunted 
steadily  by  the  Punch  Bowl,  Pickwell,  and  lost  at  Cold 
Overton,  when  we  came  back  to  Ashby  Pastures,  and 
found  w-hat  had  proved  to  be,  on  two  previous  occasions, 
the  worst  fox  ever  seen,  for  he  ran  the  whole  time  like  a 
very  bad  rabbit ;  and  it  is  most  surprising  that  such  a 
fox  could  have  behaved  so  badly,  for  he  knew  a  great 
deal  of  country.  He  went  away  this  time  the  same 
line  as  before,  and  w^as  trying  his  twisting  dodges,  when 
he  must  have  found  this  time  it  would  not  pay.  Coming 
away  beside  the  road  towards  Gaddesby,  the  pace  was 
terrific  as  they  skirted  the  end  of  that  village,  and  swung 
round  over  the  grasses  by  Ashby  Folville.  Another 
turn  to  the  left  took  them  up  the  hill,  and,  after  running 
between  the  two  coverts  of  Thorpe  Trussells  and  the 
Pastures,  they  pointed  for  Kirby,  but  turned  before 
reaching  it,  and  taking  in  the  line  Gaudilope  and  Burton 
Lazars,  after  which  hounds  quickly  entered  Mr. 
Burbage's  Covert.     So  far  it  had  been  capital,  but  was 


128 


not  yet  over.  As  hounds  were  going  in  on  one  side,  the 
fox  was  going  out  at  the  other,  and  coming  back  to  the 
river,  which  saved  us  the  trouble  of  crossing  it.  The 
line  was  now  direct  across  the  Burton  Elats  to  Staple- 
ford  Park,  which  the  fox  reached  not  two  minutes  in 
front  of  hounds,  and  was  immediately  after  bowled  over 
handsomely.  Time,  an  hour  and  five  minutes  ;  distance, 
as  the  crow  flies,  nine  miles ;  as  they  ran,  thirteen. 

Monday,  4th  'Feb. — There  were  two  charming  gallops 
to  ground.  Meeting  place,  Widmerpool  New  Inn.  The 
morning  was  spent  in  blank  draws ;  but  when  Lord 
Aylesford's  Covert  was  reached  the  proceedings  consider- 
ably altered,  for  a  very  wide-awake  fox  was  away  before 
hounds  entered  the  covert,  and  being  clapped  on  to  him 
without  loss  of  time,  the  twenty  minutes  which  followed 
was  of  the  very  best  description  :  the  line  being  round 
Grimstone,  through  the  Gorse  and  Saxelby  Wood, 
thence  by  Old  Dalby,  to  Broughton  station,  to  ground 
beside  the  line.  Being  a  large  pipe  drain,  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  bolting  him ;  and  after  another  nice  run,  he 
returned  to  the  same  drain,  and  was  left  in  peace. 

Monday,  11th. — A  very  wild  morning,  and  unhke 
hunting.  The  fixture  was  Thrussington,  and  Cossington 
Gorse  was  first  drawn.  This  covert  produced  a  fox 
who  went  to  ground  at  Ratcliffe-on-the- Wreak,  beside 
the  river,  at  a  time  when  the  most  fearful  storm  of  hail 
and  rain  was  falling  that  is  often  one's  lot  to  be  out  in. 
The  day  now  cleared  up  nicely,  and  we  went  on  to 
Thrussington  Wolds  for  another  fox — quickly  finding ; 
but  scent  was  only  very  moderate  until  towards  the  end. 
Hounds  hunted  beautifully  by  Eagdale,  thence  by 
Shoby  and  Hoby,  then  to  the  left  up  to  Grimstone,  and 


129 


on  to  Old  Dalby,  and  down  towards  Broughton  station ; 
but,  turning  back,  the  line  was  carried  over  the  Wart- 
naby  hills  and  into  Saxelby  Wood,  where  they  got  on 
better  terms  with  their  fox ;  and  now  they  began  to  run 
in  real  earnest,  and  the  line  of  grass,  too,  was  very 
pretty.  Clean  through  Saxelby  village  they  raced 
him,  and  at  Asfordby  bowled  him  over  in  a  cottage 
garden,  after  a  remarkably  sporting  run. 

On  Monday,  March  10th. — Widmerpool  New  Inn 
was  again  the  meet,  and  Curates  Gorse  ^again  the  first 
draw.  A  fox  being  quickly  found,  we  were  away  almost 
in  no  time,  and  in  eleven  minutes  afterwards  were  at 
the  edge  of  Mr.  Sherbrooke's  Covert.  I  don't  know  the 
distance,  but  this  seemed  to  me  to  be  very  quick  work,  and 
I  took  out  my  watch  twice  to  be  sure  that  I  had  not 
made  a  mistake.  The  fox  being  holloa'd  on  one  field 
ahead,  we  ran  by  Hose  brickyard  and  Clawson  to  the 
Thorns,  thence  to  Piperhole  Gorse,  when  hounds  divided. 
Our  horses  were  too  much  beat  to  be  able  to  catch  and 
stop  either  lot,  so  each  went  their  own  way :  one  lot 
running  their  fox  to  ground  at  Harby  Hills,  the  others 
theirs  to  ground  at  Old  Hills. 

Saturday,  22nd  March.— A  day  on  the  Forest, 
Charley  Cross  Roads  being  the  meeting  place.  Some 
coverts  were  drawn  blank  in  a  line  for  the  Whit  wick 
Eocks,^  where  we  found,  but  our  fox  was  killed  almost 
immediately,  which  was  a  sad  blow,  as  foxes  on  this 
side  were  well  known  to  be  very  scarce.  However, 
we  had  luck  in  store,  for  at  the  One  Barrow  Eeservoir 
a  very  stout  old  gentleman  was  in  waiting,  and  who 
kept  us  for  the  next  two  hours  busily  engaged  ere  he 
yielded  up  his  life.      Going  first  by  the  One  Barrow 


130 


Earm,  lie  ran  a  circle,  and  back  to  his  starting  point, 
thence  to  White  Horse  Wood  and  Sheepshed,  and, 
instead  of  going  on  to  Garendon,  he  turned  to  the  left, 
and  keeping  Oakley  and  Piper  Woods  on  the  right 
hand,  ran  pretty  straight  to  Belton,  and  then  turned 
short  to  the  left  along  the  Water  Meadows,  where  there 
was  a  capital  scent,  and  which  was  a  very  pretty  part 
of  the  run.  This  led  us  to  Grracedieu  Manor,  hounds 
crossing  the  Park,  and  pointing  for  the  Cadement  Wood, 
but  instead  of  entering  it,  they  bore  to  the  left,  and 
crossing  Sharpley  Eocks,  once  more  passed  One  Barrow. 
This  was  his  last  time,  for  our  fox  now  put  his  head  for 
a  different  line,  and  from  which  he  was  not  again  destined 
to  return.  Crossing  by  the  Oaks  Church  and  Hiveshead 
we  soon  reached  Longcliffe,  and  passing  on  the  right  of 
the  Privets,  ran  over  Whittle  Hill,  and  into  the  Out 
Woods ;  one  turn  round,  and  away  by  Caron's  Piece, 
and  on  to  Beacon  Hill;  and  running  through  the 
Beacon  Planting,  hounds  got  a  view  just  outside,  and 
rolled  him  over,  and  so  ended  another  capital  day. 

The  above  are,  although  feebly  written,  a  slight 
example  of  the  many  excellent  runs  which  have  been 
enjoyed  during  this  very  famous  season-— certainly  by 
far  the  best  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  have  seen. 
It  is  an  old  saying  that  a  good  scent  makes  a  good  fox, 
and  in  the  season  just  past,  this  may  be  said  to  have 
been  fully  illustrated,  for  scent  has  been  better  and  foxes 
have  run  straighter  than  perhaps  has  been  known  for  a 
very  many  years.  I  hope  it  may  be  as  good  next. 
Then  with  a  good  pack  of  hounds  and  a  good  stud  of 
horses,  and  a  prosperous  season  for  the  farmers,  there 
will  be  lots  of  fun  and  enjoyment  for  those  who  think 
that,  among  the  few  things  most  worth  living  for,  fox- 
hunting is  one. 

T.  Fire. 


31 


THE  GALLAKT  LITTLE  GEEY. 

I've  got  as  good  a  little  horse  as  ever  you  did  see, 
So  well  he  lifts  his  foreleg  up,  so  nice  he  bends  his  knee  ; 
His  action  high,  his  quarters  good,  and  such  a  depth  of  girt. 
And  a  rattling  pair  of  hocks  and   thighs  to  lift  him 
through  the  dirt. 

My  gallant  little  hunter, 

My  dashing  little  grey ! 

Now  see  him  at  the  covert  side  with  snaffle  bridle  on, 
"While  other  horses  chafe  and  fret,   how  quietly  he'll 

stand ; 
And  when  the  hounds  have  found  their  fox,  and  settled 

to  him  steady, 
He'll  champ  his  bit  and  shake  his  head  to  show  you  he 
is  ready. 

My  gallant  little  hunter, 
My  dashing  little  grey ! 

Five  minutes  more  are  over,  there's   a  halloo  "gone 

away !" 
The  scent  is  good,  the  pace  first-rate,  there  is  no  time 

to  stay : 
The  scent  is  good,  and  up  yon  hill  I'll  venture  any  bet 
The  cocktails  will  be  sobbing,  and  the  sweUs  all  in  a  fret 
At  my  gallant  little  hunter, 
My  dashing  little  grey ! 

Now  twenty  minutes  past  and  gone,  the  sweUs  begin  to 

crane 
At  a  great  high  stile  upon  a  bank,  and  a  drop  into  a  lane. 
My  little  nag  can  stand  and  jump,  which  oft  saves  me  a 

burst, 
And  now  but  two  are  with  the  hounds,  and  now,  by 
Jove,  I'm  first 

On  my  dashing  little  hunter, 
My  gallant  little  grey  ! 


132 


COLONEL  THOMSON'S   BEST  RUN  WITH 
THE  ATHERSTONE, 

1849. 

Januakt  1st,  Monday.  Red  Lion,  Appleby.  Sailor 
and  Landseer,  self;  "Ace,"  Stephen  Goodall;  Avenue, 
Stephen  Shepherd.  Small  pack,  19^  couple;  scent 
capital.     Wind,  N.E.;  very  cold. 

Birdshill  Gorse  being  cut  down,  Geo.  Moore  used  to 
put  a  terrier  through  the  earth,  while  the  hounds 
drew  the  rough  grass  and  nettles  at  the  other  end. 
Bolted  a  fox  from  the  earth,  came  out  of  the  top  of  the 
cover,  turned  to  the  left,  and  crossed  the  brook  towards 
Measham  Mill ;  ran  up  almost  to  the  canal  bridge  as  if 
for  Willesley,  turned  to  the  left  along  the  side  of  the 
brook  to  Stretton,  which  they  crossed  nearly  opposite 
the  house.  Checked  for  a  moment,  but  hit  it  off 
before  anyone  got  to  them,  crossed  the  road  to  Ashby, 
ran  very  hard  across  the  road  from  No-Man's  Heath  to 
Seckington.  Ransom  and  Darling  made  a  capital  turn 
— Fencer,  Matchless,  Ringlet,  President,  Barmaid,  and 
Nimble,  all  doing  well.  Checked  for  a  moment  at  the  road 
at  the  top  of  the  new  Thorpe  cover — twenty-five  minutes 
up  to  the  first  check.  Ran  on  very  pretty  up  to  Thorpe, 
where  they  checked  again  at  the  road,  hit  it  two  fields 
on.  Up  jumped  a  hare ;  Plunder  and  some  young  ones 
at  it ;  stopped  them.  Up  got  another ;  Prudence  and 
Dewdrop  after  it.  Roj-al  hit  the  line  off  in  the  other 
direction  through  a  sheepfold,  and  put  us  right  again ; 
through  Thorpe  Gorse  (cut  down),  across  a  deep  country 
up  to  the  railroad  near  Wiggington  (where  my  horse 
cast  a  shoe — I  took  the  "Ace"  from  Goodall),  crossed 
at  a  bridge,  and  began  to  run  for  him ;  came  down  to 


133 


tlie  Thame,  near  the  hanging  cover  at  Elford,  ran  along 
the  bank  for  about  two  fields  (Cheerful  leading),  crossed 
the  river — horses  could  not  get  over — ran  up  nearly  to 
Fisherwick,  turned  to  the  left  over  the  meadows,  where 
they  ran  him  in  view.  He  swam  the  river  at  Comber- 
ford  Mill  to  return  to  the  Atherstone  side  :  the  hounds 
viewed  him  in  the  water,  and  dashed  in  at  him.  They 
landed  on  an  island^  where  they  killed  him.  No  one 
could  get  to  them,  but  Novice  brought  the  head  on 
shore,  and  some  others  a  pad  or  two.  Time,  one  hour 
and  fifteen  minutes.  A  very  good  run,  and  a  very 
pretty  finish.  Sailor  carried  me  like  a  bird,  and  the 
"  Ace  "  the  last  part.  Edmund  Peel  went  very  well  on 
a  black  horse,  also  Powell  on  a  grey ;  Hervey,  Wilson, 
Lawrenson,  &c.  Powell  got  his  horse  in  the  Thame,  and 
old  Green  nearly  got  drowned  in  fording  it.  Bass  got 
a  bad  fall,  and  broke  a  rib.  Hon.  J.  Macdonald,  Henry 
Porester,  Stanhope,  &c,,  were  out,  and  came  from 
Lord  Chesterfield's,  Bretby  Park. 

Frost  set  in  very  hard  in  the  afternoon.  Sir  Geo. 
Chetwynd  gave  me  a  cigar,  the  last  I  ever  smolved. 
Killed  eighteen  brace,  and  six  to  ground,  up  to  date. 

J.  A.  T. 


THE  OHAENDOxY  RUN  WITH  THE 
BICESTER. 

Letter  from  Colois-el  Anstetjther  Thomson  to  Geoege 
Moore,  Esq.,  of  Appleby,  December  23rd,  1856. 

I  HATE  had  such  a  run  last  Tuesday  (Dec.  23rd)  as  I 
never  saw  before,  so  have  taken  a  large  sheet  of  paper  to 
tell  you  aU  about  it,  and  have,  moreover,  made  a  map 


134 


for  your  benefit,  as  yoii  know  the  country.  Met  at 
Charndon  Common.  Sharpish  air,  but  fine,  still 
morning.  Twenty  couple  white  hounds ;  my  pack. 
Found  two  or  three  foxes  in  Charndon  Wood,  and  I 
intended  as  soon  as  we  had  made  a  row  in  the  wood,  to 
cut  away  to  the  end  where  a  fox  generally  breaks  ;  how- 
ever, before  I  got  there,  two  were  holloaed  away.  In 
going  up  the  ride  1  crossed  two  lines  of  foxes,  and  some 
hounds  broke  away  on  each,  so  I  arrived  with  only  four 
couple ;  however,  they  came  dropping  on,  and  as  soon  as 
I  got  twelve  couple,  I  went  away  with  them.  We  had 
just  got  over  the  Edgcot  Eoad  and  down  the  hill,  where 
our  fox  had  turned  to  the  right,  when  something  headed 
him,  and  he  turned  back  in  front  of  the  hounds,  in  the 
same  field  with  them,  and  away  they  went  over  those 
fine  grass  fields.  Somehow  another  fox  appeared,  and 
the  two  ran  close  together  up  to  the  Grandon  and 
Marsh  Gibbon  Road.  I  had  a  bad  start,  being  the 
wrong  side  of  a  big  fence,  and  only  caught  them  there. 
The  fox  had  run  up  the  road  towards  me,  and  gone 
through  the  gate,  opposite  to  which  I  came  into  the  road. 
The  twelve  couple  on  the  line  were  two  fields  to  my  left, 
and  five  couples  scoring  to  the  cry  in  the  next  field  to 
me,  when  I  whistled  the  five  couple,  nicked  the  scent 
first,  and  then  away  they  went  in  earnest,  seventeen 
couple,  over  Marsh  Gibbon  field,  all  grass,  very  deep, 
double  fences  and  brooks.  We  began  by  crossing  the 
brook  twice,  and  a  double,  which  thinned  the  field  down 
to  seven  or  eight,  George  Drake  being  first,  Bill  Holland 
and  myself  and  Ned  Drake  next,  Henry  Lambton  and 
Ned  Harrison  a  little  behind  us,  and  I  never  saw  any- 
one else.  At  the  Ham  Green  road  the  fox  ran  up  the 
road  a  little  way,  the  leading  four  couple  flashed  on  and 
missed  the  turn,  but  the  body  hunted  the  line  through. 


135 


I  did  not  get  them  together  till  we  got  to  the  Luggars- 
hall  road.  Here  Kansom  made  a  drive  up  the  furrow 
of  a  ploughed  field  (only  the  second  we  had  seen),  and 
then  stopped  as  if  she  was  shot.  The  fox  had  been 
headed  by  a  plough,  and  turned  short  to  the  left. 
Nosegay,  Governess,  and  one  other,  hunted  the  line, 
and  I  nicked  in  with  the  body  in  the  field  before  them, 
and  away  they  scored  again.  They  ran  up  the  Luggarshall 
and  Piddington  road  for  the  length  of  two  fields ;  the 
fox  was  headed  and  turned  down  to  the  right.  Gallant 
making  a  good  hit ;  the  fox  then  shifted  one  furrow. 
Dreadnought,  another  young  one,  hitting  that  off. 
Twice  the  fox  tried  to  make  his  point  at  Piddington 
village,  but  both  times  was  headed  by  hedge  cutters ; 
but  he  tried  it  a  field  further  on, '  and  then  turned  up 
again,  and  set  his  head  for  Muxwell  Hill.  In  the  turn 
the  body  ran  over  it,  but  Nosegay  carried  it  on,  and 
never  left  the  line.  When  we  crossed  the  Piddington 
and  Luggarshall  road  the  second  time,  two  or  three 
horsemen  joined,  but  I  had  no  time  to  see  who  they 
were,  two  Drakes,  Holland,  and  I  having  the  best  of  it. 
When  about  half  way  up  the  hill  the  hounds  paused 
among  some  cattle,  but  Blossom,  Governess,  and  two 
others  hunted  it  through.  When  they  got  to  the  top, 
hounds  turned  short  to  the  right,  and  I  lost  sight  of 
them  for  two  fields.  The  hill  is  very  steep,  and  I  got 
into  a  very  deep  stubble  field,  so  I  pulled  into  a  trot  to 
ease  my  horse,  and  I  went  through  a  farmyard,  when 
I  found  myself  again  in  the  field  with  the  hounds,  and 
above  them,  they  having  gone  down  the  hill,  and  Ned 
Drake  and  Holland  having  gone  with  them.  George 
Drake  had  followed  me  through  the  farmyard,  and  then 
joined  the  other  two ;  I  kept  above  them.  We  then 
crossed  the  Brill  and  Bicester  road,  which  only  has  two 


136 


or  three  practicable  places.  I  got  one  above  the  hounds, 
and  the  others  had  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill.  I 
was  still  one  field  above  the  hounds,  when  they  turned 
sharp  to  the  left,  and  came  up  the  hill  to  me,  and  1  was 
able  to  stand  still  for  a  few  minutes,  much  to  the 
advantage  of  my  horse.  Here  Tom  Lowndes  came  to 
me,  but  we  had  not  much  time  to  spare.  They  streamed 
down  the  hill  as  if  for  BoarstoU  Wood,  but  when  they 
got  to  the  road,  turned  away  from  it- along  the  road  for 
two  hundred  yards.  Blossom  and  Governess  hunting  it 
beautifully.  On  again  over  a  little  brook  and  up  to 
Arncot  Little  Wood— here  the  fox  ran  through  a  sheep- 
fold,  and  was  only  one  field  before  us ;  down  the  rack- 
way  through  the  cut  part  of  the  wood,  then  down  the 
outside  on  to  Arncot  "Great  Wood,  where  he  went  into 
the  ride  through  the  gate — one  hour  and  seven  minutes 
without  a  check  to  this  point.  Up  the  ride  nearly  to 
the  top,  two  Harrisons,  Lambton,  two  Drakes,  Lowndes, 
Holland,  and  myself  being  then  with  them,  and  Mr. 
Brown,  of  Piddington,  joined  us  as  we  crossed  his  farm ; 
then  through  the  top  part,  and  away  over  the  hill,  never 
having  checked  or  divided.  Governess  leading  them 
down  the  hill  to  the  Arncot  river,  where  they  rather  ran 
away  from  us.  When  we  got  to  the  Ambrosden  road 
I  thought  he  was  going  for  the  ruins,  and  went  round 
by  the  road ;  however,  on  he  went  parallel  to  the  Merton 
road.  Brown  and  I  on  the  road  looking  out  for  him  to 
cross,  and  the  others  riding  the  line.  At  Ashley  Bridge 
farm  he  turned  short  to  the  left  from  the  road  and 
towards  the  farm,  probably  being  headed,  and  as  we 
turned  into  the  field  I  expect  he  crossed  the  road — he 
was  then  two  fields  before  us.  Hunted  it  on  through  a 
ploughed  field,  and  he  then  crossed  the  road  opposite 


187 


tlie  Merton  earths,  but  passed  tliem  on  to  the  village, 
crossed  the  road  again,  and  ran  do^Ti  to  the  river  side. 
Here  we  had  our  first  check.  One  hour  and  thirty- 
minutes  to  this  point.  Soon  hit  it  off,  and  hunted  him 
bacii  towards  the  farmhouse.  Now  comes  the  worst 
part  of  the  story :  Morris,  my  second  whip,  here  came 
in  sight  on  my  left ;  about  six  couple  o£  hounds  had  the 
line  on  the  left  side  of  a  thick  double  hedge,  the  rest  of 
the  hounds  being  on  the  wrong  side.  Just  then  Powell 
came  up,  meeting  us  with  two  couple  of  the  hounds 
which  had  been  left  behind.  He  saw  something  move 
in  the  hedge,  pulled  his  cap  off,  and  capped  the  hounds 
on  his  side  to  a  hare.  "  Be  quiet,"  I  shouted.  In  the 
meantime,  Morris  has  stopped  the  others  off  the 
line,  and  got  their  heads  up.  There  was  a  curdog  bark- 
ing in  the  farmyard,  and  three  young  hounds  ran  through 
the  gate  towards  it  from  the  other  side,  in  front  of  those 
that  had  had  the  line.  They  had  their  heads  up,  and 
started  to  join  them,  thinking  there  was  a  view.  I  got 
them  all  quiet  as  soon  as  I  could,  and  drew  every  hedge 
row  round  about  for  an  hour,  but  could  make  no  more 
of  it.  I  got  a  line  again  over  the  road  and  up  to  the 
drain,  and  then  away  from  it  as  if  he  had  been  headed, 
as  there  were  two  men  working  on  the  mouth  of  it 
almost,  and  I  think  since  that  he  may  perhaps  have  got 
in  after  all ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  the  best  run  I  ever  saw, 
and  if  we  had  caught  him,  would  have  been  perfection. 
I  was  riding  Maximus,  Jack  Darby's  horse :  he  never 
made  a  mistake,  but  galloped  the  whole  time  with  his 
head  loose.  He  never  was  blown,  and  very  little  tired. 
Both  he  and  I  have  a  thorn  in  our  knee,  but  that  is  all 
the  grief  we  experienced.  Come  here,  and  we  will  try 
and  do  it  again. 


138 


Col.  Thomson  rode  Maximus  and  Peter ;  Tom  Powell, 
Mayboy ;  Morris,  Wolf  dog.  Twenty  couple  of  white 
hounds. 

N.B, — The  Bicester  packs  were  divided  into  white 
and  black  at  that  time. 


THE  WATEELOO  EUN  WITH  THE  PTTCHLEY, 

Eebetjary  2nd,  1866. 
Weitten"  by  Colonel  Ansteijthee  Thomson. 

The  accounts  of  the  Waterloo  Eun  have  been  so 
many  and  so  various,  that  I  send  you  what 
I  believe  to  be  the  leading  facts  in  the  day's  sport.  The 
hounds  ran  their  first  fox  in  Loatland  Wood,  and  in 
and  out  of  cover  for  one  hour  and  five  minutes,  and  ran  him 
to  ground  to  Arthingworth.  They  found  again  in 
Waterloo  Grorse  at  a  quarter  to  tw^o.  The  time  from 
Waterloo  to  the  earths  at  Keythorpe  was  one  hour  fifty 
minutes.  The  total  time  was  three  hours  forty-five 
minutes,  but  w-e  Lad  a  long  check,  twenty  or  twenty-five 
minutes  at  the  windmill  at  Medbourne,  and  hunted  on 
slowly  afterwards.  I  take  the  distance  to  be  from 
Waterloo  to  Kelmarsh,  three  miles;  from  Kelmarsh  to 
Keythorpe,  eighteen,  as  we  ran  it,  being  twenty-one 
miles  in  one  hour  and  fifty  minutes.  There  were  only 
four  ploughed  fields  in  that  distance.  The  hounds  were 
only  off"  the  line  once,  between  Kelmarsh  and  Key- 
thorpe, when  I  lifted  them  one  field  to  a  holloa  at  Little 
Oxendon.  As  to  changing  foxes,  I  don't  think  we 
clianged  at  Shipley  Spinney.  We  might  have  changed 
when  I  lifted  the  hounds  at  Little  Oxendon,  but  I  don't 


139 


think  we  did,  as  it  was  in  the  direction  our  fox  was 
travelling.  I  think  we  changed  at  Keythorpe  Wood,  as 
another  fox  was  viewed  there  besides  the  fox  which  we 
followed  to  Medbourne.  We  may  have  changed  any- 
where in  a  hedgerow,  but  I  saw  no  perceptible  change 
of  scent,  or  anthing  to  cause  me  to  think  so.  Some  of  your 
correspondents  have  asked  where  I  managed  to  get  five 
horses  durinsj  the  run.  They  will  see  in  "  Baily  "  that  I 
was  indebted  to  the  kindness  and  sportsmanlike  feeling 
of  my  friends,  Mr.  Hay  and  Mr.  Walter  de  Whiton, 
and  I  beg  all  of  them  to  accept  my  most  grateful  thanks. 
Both  Colonel  Frazer  and  Mr.  Whyte,  on  getting  fresh 
horses,  also  most  generously  offered  them  to  me. 

Friday,  Feb.  2nd. — Met  at  Arthingworth.  I  rode 
Valeria  and  Rainbow;  Dick  Eoake,  Usurper;  Tom  Firr, 
Fresco ;  CharHe,  my  son,  Amulet.  I  was  staying  at  Sir 
Charles  Isham's,  at  Lamport,  and  hounds  called  for  me 
as  they  passed.  A  very  wet  morning,  but  cleared  at  eleven 
o'clock ;  very  mild  and  still ;  not  a  very  good  scent  in  cover ; 
wind,  S.W.  Found  in  Waterloo  at  five  minutes  past  two 
by  my  watch  (twenty  minutes  fast).  The  fox  lay  so  still, 
I  drew  all  round  the  cover,  and  back  to  the  top  before 
he  moved.  He  lay  among  a  heap  of  dead  sticks — Grace- 
ful found  him.  Morris  *  holloaed  him  away  towards  the 
tunnel.  I  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  cover,  and  before  I 
got  to  the  hounds  they  had  checked  near  the  road.  I  took 
them  along  the  road  nearly  to  the  white  gate,  where 
they  got  the  line  towards  Arthingworth.  They  were 
ridden  otF  the  line  in  the  first  field,  but  swung  round 
through  the  fence  on  to  it  again,  over  the  brook  and 
spinney  at  Arthingworth,  and  crossed  the  rail.  The 
field  w^s  full  of  sheep,  and  the  shepherd  told  me  the 


Richd.  Morris,  my  second  horseman,  many  years  with  Warwickshire 
and  me,  a  capital  man  with  hounds. 


140 


fox  had  gone  into  Langboro'.  I  carried  them  on,  and 
just  as  I  got  to  the  gate  he  was  holloaed  away  on  the 
other  side.  I  cut  down  the  middle  ride,  and  got  on  the 
line,  crossed  the  Harboro'  road,  and  ran  fast  on  to 
Shipley  Spinney.  Hounds  just  crossed  the  end  o£  the 
Spinney,  and  went  right  up  the  hill  towards  Clipston, 
and  then  it  began  in  earnest.  Dick  went  round  the 
Tallyho  end  of  the  Spinney  ( Covert  at  west  end 
of  Shipley  Spinney),  and  viewed  another  fox,  and 
blew  his  horn,  which  distracted  some  of  the  field,  and 
put  them  out  of  it.  Two  fields  further  on  there  was  a 
stifi"  stile  and  footboard,  which  lots  of  fellows  tumbled 
over.  I  had  a  shy  at  the  bullfinch  up  hill,  high  and 
strong,  and  it  turned  Valeria  over.  I  lost  a  spur,  which 
I  put  in  my  pocket,  picked  up  the  pieces,  and  set  sail,  but 
I  lost  half  a  field,  which  I  could  not  regain.  Two  fields 
on  another  stile,  and  lots  of  grief.  Eobertson  No.  2 
and  another  down,  blocked  the  way.  The  field  then 
divided  into  two  lots,  the  right  hand  lot  well  with  the 
hounds — Custance,  Tom,  Charlie  Whyte,  Erazer,  Top- 
ham,  and  perhaps  twenty  more.  The  left  hand  lot, 
myself,  Mills,  De  la  Cour,  Boyd,  &c.,  about  a  field  and 
a  half  behind  the  hounds.  Hounds  ran  on  without  a 
pause  past  the  spinney  between  Oxendon  and  Clipston, 
leaving  Oxendon  village  to  the  right,  into  the  Farndon 
and  Oxendon  road,  I  came  into  the  road  opjDOsite  Mr. 
Kirkman's  house.  They  checked  here,  and  I  lifted 
them  on  to  a  holloa  one  field  off,  having  to  jump  a  nasty 
double,  with  a  rail  to  me  to  get  at  it.  Governess  first 
spoke  to  the  line,  and  ofi"  we  went  again,  crossed  the 
bottom  from  Farndon,  which  Vivian  jumped  first  and 
fell ;  I  scrambled  in  and  out.  iS'ethercote  Whyte, 
Prazer,  and  Topham  were  first  at  the  next  fence. 
Hounds  then  began  to  go  down  the  hill  towards  Lub- 


141 


benham,  one  field  to  the  right  of  the  Earndon  and 
Harboro'  road.  I  got  into  the  road,  and  here  Dick  and 
Charlie  (my  boy)  joined  ns.  Hounds  crossed  the  road 
into  the  big  field,  and  the  Welland  at  the  Harborongh 
corner.  Charlie  had  a  shy  at  the  rails  and  tumbled  over 
them.  I  went  further  up  the  field  for  a  broken  rail. 
Dick  and  I  both  lay  to  the  left  for  Lubbenham  cover, 
thinking  that  was  his  point,  but  he  crossed  the  river 
and  rail  at  the  Harboro'  end.  We  lifted  the  railway 
gate  ofi"  its  hinges,  and  crossed  near  the  cover — Topham, 
Mills,  Mayon,  Charlie,  &c.  We  caught  the  hounds  at 
the  Harboro'  and  Lubbenham  road.  They  then  turned 
their  heads  towards  Bowden  Inn,  and  began  to  run 
hard.  Grief  began  to  be  visible  at  the  next  fence,  a 
nasty  place  up  hill.  Birch  Eeynardson  had  his  horse 
in  the  ditch,  and  was  exclaiming,  "  Oh.  dear  !  oh,  dear  !" 
Two  fields  further  on  my  mare  began  to  trot  (she  had 
a  good  dressing  with  the  first  fox,  having  run  an  hour 
up  and  down  the  rides  in  Loatland  Wood).  I  heard 
Dick  whistle  behind  me,  and  say,  "  Take  my  horse,  sir, 
he  has  ten  minutes  left."  I  changed  with  him,  and  told 
him  to  get  "  Eainbow"  from  Morris  as  soon  as  he  could. 
"  Usurper,"  his  horse,  was  fresh  enough,  for  he  mshed  at 
the  first  fence — a  drop — over-jumped  himself,  and  gave 
me  a  regular  burster,  and  knocked  five  minutes  of  the 
ten  out  of  himself.  No  harm  done ;  scrambled  on  and 
caught  the  hounds  at  the  railway  bridge  at  Bowden  Inn. 
The  fox  had  run  the  road.  Eelish  hit  the  line  through 
the  hedge  on  the  right,  and  Tom  held  the  rest  up  to  her. 
The  field  had  cut  ofi"  the  tail  hounds,  and  got  Elasher 
and  Graceful  in  the  middle  of  them,  and  were  playing 
at  football  with  them,  for  which  I  blessed  them.  They 
ran  round  the  back  of  Bowden  Inn,  paused  for  a 
minute  at  a  plough,  and  crossed  the  rail  at  the  first 


149 


crossing  right  of  the  Langton  road.  Flasher  first  over 
the  rail,  and  then  over  the  brook,  and  on  as  if  for 
Langton  Caudle.  Frank  Langham  went  at  the  brook, 
and  his  horse  jumped  in.  Tom  Eirr,  seeing  the  bottom 
was  good,  jumped  in  and  out.  Custance  jumped  it 
well,  just  as  Tom  got  out.  Mills  and  I  jumped  it  more 
to  the  right,  in  a  watering  place,  and  got  over  well,  only 
two  others,  Langham  and  Tom,  over  before  us.  It 
caused  lots  of  grief,  and  many  took  to  the  road  at  Bow- 
den  Inn.  Wliyte  and  Frazer's  horses  stand  there,  and 
they  both  got  fresh  horses.  The  fox  was  headed  on  the 
top  of  the  next  hill,  and  turned  along  the  valley.  Here 
Charlie  Whyte  came  up  on  a  fresh  grey  horse,  and 
kindly  offered  to  let  me  have  it.  We  now  began  to  be 
a  mutual  assistance  society,  and  help  each  other,  and 
pulled  down  rails  and  made  gaps.  Crossed  the  road 
between  Thorpe  Langton  and  Great  Bowden ;  hounds 
still  carried  on  steadily.  I  just  saw  Langton  Caudle, 
which  we  left  on  our  left,  and  thought  it  would  be  the 
end  of  the  journey,  and  that  I  could  just  hug  up  to  it. 
Crossed  the  Thorpe  Langton  and  Welham  road,  got 
through  the  brook  at  a  ford,  going  up  a  hill.  Here 
Usurper  dropped  into  a  trot,  and  Mr.  Hay  lent  me  his 
horse,  a  brown  thoroughbred.  The  first  gate  I  came  to 
half  closed  and  touched  its  side  j  it  plunged  and  pitched 
me  clean  over  its  head.  We  here  came  to  a  ploughed 
field  and  a  wheat  field.  The  field  remained  on  the  grass 
on  the  top  of  the  hill.  I  went  with  the  hounds,  and 
had  to  jump  a  ditch  up  hill  out  of  the  plough.  The 
horse  did  not  land  hind  legs,  and  was  not  strong  enough 
to  get  up,  so  I  jumped  off.  At  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
a  "  Pat "  holloaed  us  on — "  Just  gone  when  I  holloaed ;" 
and  off  again  just  over  the  grass,  turned  to  the  left  past 
a  brick  kiln,  crossed  the  road  between  Staunton  Wy  villa 


143 


and  Cranoe,  and  up  hill  to  a  spinney.  Hay's  liorse 
could  gallop  well,  so  I  got  on  to  the  other  side,  stood 
still  for  a  minute,  and  saw  hounds  come  out,  Royston 
hunting  it  single-handed  through  the  sheep ;  and  then 
]\Ionarch  spoke  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge,  the  rest 
came  bundling  on,  andaway  we  went,  "Cherry"  Angel  here 
in  company.  Crossed  a  lane  near  Grlooston  village,  and 
carried  on  well  through  several  fields  full  of  sheep. 
"  Hurrah  for  the  Duke  of  Beaufort !  "  said  I — Ferry- 
man,"^ guiding  the  scent,  leading  to  Glooston  Wood.  "I 
always  told  you  so,"  says  Clerk  (Tailby  had  been  in  it  the 
day  before).  Through  the  wood  like  bells,  and  away  on 
the  other  side  towards  Skeffington.  Allan  Young  hol- 
loaed them  away.  On  coming  out  of  the  wood  I  had  a 
shoe  off,  and  Walter  de  Winton  changed  horses  with 
me.  There  is  a  nasty  deep  bottom  at  the  end  of  the 
field,  where  Custance  got  his  horse  fast ;  my  horse,  or 
rather  de  Winton's,  refused  it,  and  Edgill  scrambled  in. 
Just  then  I  heard  Dick  whistle,  and  found  him  on  the 
other  side  on  Rainbow.  I  j  amped  off,  got  over  the  rails, 
and  set  sail  all  right  again.  Some  men  rabbiting  had 
turned  the  fox  half  a  field  to  the  left,  and  they  ran  clear 
away  from  us  again.  John  Chaplin  and  another  were 
before  me,  but  kept  too  far  to  the  left.  I  got  along  the 
road  to  Godeby  with  Colonel  Mayon,  and  caught  them 
at  the  corner  of  the  road,  and  then  went  on  with  them 
alone  to  Keythorpe  Wood.  Here  they  checked  a 
moment  in  the  wood,  or  at  least  did  not  speak.  I  got 
on  to  the  middle  ride,  and  saw  Singer,  Streamer,  and 
Ferryman  cross,  but  not  on  the  line ;  however,  they  hit 
it  off  again,  and  went  away  towards  Eamshead.  I  got 
the  rest  after  them,  and  had  eleven  couple  on — Fanny 
the  last  hound  out.     Dick  and  Tom  both  there.    Three 

*  Ferryman,  by  Duke  of  Beaufort's  Finder. 


144 


fields  further  on  the  fox  tried  the  earth,  where  Tailby 
had  run  to  ground  on  the  previous  Tuesday,  and  dug 
out.  I  looked  at  my  watch  :  one  hour  and  fifty  minutes, 
and,  I  think,  about  eighteen  miles,  and  hounds  had  oaly 
once  been  ofi"  the  line,  when  I  lifted  them  at  Little 
Oxendon.  Here  there  was  something  like  two  lines, 
the  body  of  the  hounds  going  down  the  field  towards 
Eamshead ;  a  few  others  had  a  scent  on  the  right-hand 
side  of  the  hedge.  Coventry  joined  us  somewhere  here, 
with  a  pair  of  trousers  on.  I  heard  Tom,  a  field  behind 
me,  holloa,  "  Yonder  he  goes  ! "  and,  at  the  same  time, 
Colonel  Frazer  told  me  one-and-a-half  couple  of  hounds 
were  two  fields  on  to  the  right.  I  thought  the  fox  had 
gone  through  Hallaton  Thorns — there  is  a  deep  bottom 
and  very  steep  hill  here.  I  lifted  the  hounds  (hoping 
to  catch  the  leading  ones  there)  to  the  far  side  of 
Hallaton  Thorns.  When  I  got  half  way  up  the  hill, 
two  gentlemen  on  foot,  who  were  rabbiting,  showed  me 
where  the  leading  hounds  were ;  they  had  not  come  into 
Hallaton,  but  were  pointing  for  Fallow  Closes,  along 
outside  the  fence,  in  at  the -gate,  and  then  away  along 
the  bottom.  I  only  got  thirteen  couple  away  from  here, 
Merryman,  Streamer,  Relish,  Eansom,  Dragon,  Singer, 
generally  leading,  and  all  working  well.  Frantic, 
though  she  had  not  been  out  for  weeks,  was  there.  We 
passed  Mr.  Studd's  house,  and  they  ran  away  from  us 
again  down  to  Slawston  Covert — they  just  came  out  of 
the  cover  as  we  got  there.  The  field  was  full  of  sheep, 
and  they  got  the  line  at  the  cross-roads.  While  we 
were  on  the  road  some  men  on  the  hill  viewed  the  fox 
going  along  the  hollow  behind  us,  only  one  field  off. 
We  cut  along  the  road,  and  got  on  the  line  directly,  run 
hard  down  the  meadows  to  the  Welland,  near  the 
angle    of    the     river    at    Welham  ;     turned    to    the 


145 


left  along  tlie  bank  of  the  river,  as  far  as  the  road  which 
goes  to  Medbourne  station,  there  turned  to  the  left  up 
to  the  windmill,  and  got  on  to  ploughed  land.  Here 
Captain  Clerk  turned  up.  The  fox  had  been  coursed 
by  a  sheep  dog,  and  repeatedly  turned.  This  caused  a 
long  check  (perhaps  twenty  minutes).  A  man  told  me 
he  had  gone  slant  ways  across  a  large  wheat  field  (which 
was  wrong),  and  after  holding  the  hounds  all  round  it, 
I  got  the  line  straight  on  again  in  the  direction  we  had 
formerly  been  going,  but  with  a  failing  scent.  The 
hounds  crossed  the  line  without  acknowledging  it :  Kelish 
stopped  back  alone,  and  made  a  drive  down  the  furrow 
without  speaking  to  it.  I  put  the  rest  on  to  her,  and 
in  the  next  field  they  began  to  hunt  it  again,  but  they 
could  not  go  the  same  pace  as  before.  They  crossed  the 
road  between  Medbourne  and  Hallaton,  and  ran  up  the 
side  of  the  brook  to  the  road  which  goes  to  Blaiston, 
Graceful  being  the  last  hound  to  hit  off*  the  line ;  she 
had  also  been  the  first  one  to  speak  to  it  in  the  morning. 
It  was  then  almost  dark,  and  I  was  afraid  we  might 
lose  the  hounds,  so  I  stopped  them  at  5.30,  having  run 
three  hours  and  forty-five  minutes.  There  was  a  halloa 
about  two  fields  on  at  the  time.  Mr.  Piercy,  the  clergy- 
man at  Slawston,  had  come  out  on  foot  when  he  heard 
the  hounds.  He  took  us  to  his  house  and  refreshed  us, 
gave  the  horses  gruel,  and  treated  us  hospitably,  and 
most  kindly  ofi'ered  me  a  hack  if  I  wished  to  leave  my 
horse,  but  he  was  not  tired,  and  carried  me  home  quite 
cheerfully.  He  carried  me  more  than  two  hours, 
and  never  made  a  mistake — a  pretty  good  trial  for 
a  five-year-old.  I  had  gone  on  for  an  hour  and 
forty-five  minutes  without  a  whipper-in,  or  having 
the  hounds  turned  to  me  once.  Captain  Clerk,  who 
was  the  only  man  who  went  through  on  one  horse, 


146 


helped  me  through  Market  Harbor ough ;  all  the  rest  of 
the  way  we  jogged  side  by  side,  and  the  hounds  trotted 
along  with  their  sterns  up.  It  was  a  fine,  mild,  quiet 
night.  I  stopped  every  three  or  four  miles,  and  called  • 
them ;  they  all  came  round  me,  wagging  their  tails,  and 
trotted  on  again.  We  got  to  the  kennels,  eighteen  or 
nineteen  miles,  about  ten  o'clock. 

At  Lamport  I  met  all  the  party  starting  for  the  Har- 
borough  ball.  My  wife  returned,  and  waited  while  I 
went  to  Brixworth  with  the  hounds,  got  a  hack,  and 
galloped  back  to  Lamport.  I  met  Dick  with  "  Usurper," 
just  as  I  was  coming  out  of  Brixworth.  I  sat  down  to 
dinner  at  ten  minutes  to  eleven  o'clock,  got  to  the  Har- 
borough  ball  at  12.30,  and  remained  two  hours.  I  was 
very  little  tired,  and  was  at  Ashby  St.  Legers  by  twelve 
o'clock  the  next  day. 

After  I  changed  horses  with  Dick  at  Glooston,  he 
came  on  with  Mr.  Hay's  horse  to  the  top  of  Hallaton 
Thorns,  but  finding  he  could  not  go  the  pace  to  be  any 
assistance,  he  came  quietly  on  to  Pallow  Closes,  picked 
up  Tyrant  (who  was  short  of  work,  having  a  toenail  off",) 
and  Bluecap,  and  went  to  Mr.  Hay's,  at  Grreat  Bowden. 
He  there  got  his  own  horse,  who  had  eaten  a  feed  of 
corn,  went  into  Harborough  to  get  a  shoe  put  on,  and 
jogged  on  home.  Charlie  went  as  far  as  Langton,  over- 
took Morris  at  Bowden  Inn,  and  went  home  with  him. 
Tom's  horse,  "  Fresco,"  carried  him  capitally  up  to  Key- 
thorpe,  and  there  he  stopped  trying  to  get  up  to  me, 
when  he  viewed  the  fox.  He  came  on  as  far  as 
Slawston,  and  then  went  on  to  Bowden  Inn,  where  his 
horse  remained  all  night.  John  Pye,  my  groom,  came 
on  the  carriage  to  Harborough  when  we  went  to  the 
ball,  and  brought  him  home  next  morning.  Of  the 
hounds  left  out.  Bowman,  Fanny,  Governess,  and  Glory, 
came  home  next  day;  Monarch  came  in  on  Monday. 


147 


I  never  could  see  the  fox  or  gee  any  advantage  on 
him,  and  I  don't  think  I  lost  a  chance.  At  Keythorpe 
we  may  have  changed,  for  Tom  saw  a  fox  besides  that 
which  the  hounds  were  on.  Tailby  had  been  in  Glooston 
Wood  the  day  before.  There  was  no  check  or  per- 
ceptible change  of  scent. 

This  was  the  best  run  I  ever  saw,  and  over  the  finest 
country  and  longest  distances,  straight.  There  was  one 
ploughed  field  between  Waterloo  and  Kelmarsh ;  the 
second  was  next  the  railway  behind  Bowden  Inn.  There 
was  a  wheat  field  and  a  ploughed  field  together  near 
Cranoe,  and  I  don't  think  the  hounds  were  ever 
ofi*  grass,  with  these  exceptions,  up  to  the  earth  at  Key- 
thorpe— one  hour  and  fifty  minutes. 

The  hounds  worked  well,  chasing  and  carrying  a  good 
head  up  to  Bowden  Inn,  hunting  steadily  through  sheep 
and  all  difficulties ;  they  were  very  fit  to  go,  and  not  an 
ounce  too  much  flesh.  They  did  a  wonderful  day's  work, 
having  run  their  first  fox  an  hour  and  five  minutes 
before  they  began  with  this. 

Yours  truly, 

J.  A.  T. 


HOUIIDS   OUT. 

Pytchley 

Hounds. 

Young  Hounds 

Kegent 

Singer 

Dragon 

Monarch 

Streamer 

Flasher 

Falstaff 

Statesman 

Folly 

Pilgrim 

Tasty 

Frantic 

Governess 

Tyrant 

Glory 

Gambler 

Dashwood 

Gossamer 

Plunder 

Driver 

Gaiety 

Eoyston 

Druid 

148 


Eitzwilliam 
Bramliam 


Eomeo       )  ttt       •  i   i,- 
>  Warwickshire 


Ferryman — B  eauf ort 

Merryman  ) 

Ransom  j 

Eelish  ) 

Singer  / 

T-       ^       >    Lord  Henry  Bentinck 
Lancer     J  -^ 


Promise 
Bowman 


Lothian 


THE  LTJNDIN  RUN  WITH  THE  FIFE  HOUNDS, 

November  30th,  1877. 

The  meet  was  at  Lundin  Station,  and  here  were 
assembled,  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  devotees  of  the  chase. 

*  *  *  But  now  to  the  covert  close  at  hand,  and  the 
hounds  are  scarcely  in  it  before  you  can  tell  that  some- 
thing is  up.  No  fox  is  viewed  away,  but  it  is  clear  they 
can  smell  one.  After  a  flash  in  the  wrong  direction  by 
some  of  the  youngsters,  owing  partly  to  excitement  and 
partly  to  a  hare,  they  quietly  got  together  again,  and 
with  two  or  three  cheery  notes  from  the  master's  horn, 
are  out  of  the  wood,  and  streaming  away  with  a  rattling 
scent  towards  Durie — gently  over  that  wall,  with  the 
drop  that  lands  you  clear  of  the  covert.  If  you  don't 
hit  it  and  fall,  you  have  taken  your  station  in  society 
for  the  next  two  miles,  and  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if 
you  lose  it.  There  is  no  doubt  about  it :  this  is  not  one 
of  your  "  hold  hard,  gentlemen,"  days ;  you  may  ride 
where  you  like,  and  the  heart  of  the  master  rejoiceth. 

*  *  *  The  pack  stopped  mute  at  an  open  drain. 
Many  are  the  devices  suggested  for  the  ejection  of  poor 
Reynard  :  but  cold  water  proves  at  once  the  most  harm- 
less and  the  most  effectual,  for  in  a  few  minutes,  as  if 


149 


refreshed  by  his  bath,  away  he  goes,  and  eighteen  couple 
of  hounds  are  in  full  chorus  behind  him.  Torloisk  is 
his  point,  which  he  reaches  in  safety,  but  not  much  to 
spare,  and  here  it  must  be  a  moot  point  whether  we 
changed  foxes  or  not — at  all  events,  the  hounds  were 
never  for  an  instant  off  the  line,  it  may  be  of  a  fresh, 
but  I  am  inclined  to  think  of  our  hunted  fox,  and  taking 
it  right  through  the  covert,  race  away  through  Milldean 
Strips  to  Eameldrie.  Here  there  was  a  slight  check,  but 
scarcely  more  than  sufficient  to  allow  of  their  carrying 
the  scent  through  this  thick  covert  of  gorse  and  broom. 
When  gallantly  breasting  the  hill,  it  seemed  at  first  as  if 
they  were  making  for  Downfield  or  the  Lime-works, 
but,  suddenly  turning  north,  he  made  again  for  the  low 
country,  and,  sinking  the  hill,  ran  down  straight  to 
Bamornie.  The  turn  was  so  short,  that  only  three 
horsemen,  viz.,  the  Master,  Col.  Babington,  and  Mr. 
William  Blackwood — who  happened  to  get  the  direction 
the  hounds  had  taken  from  the  signals  of  a  ploughman — 
were  left  in  pursuit,  and,  let  it  be  added,  never  fairly 
caught  them.  Through  M  elville  woods  and  Park,  close 
by  the  house  and  through  the  garden,  this  straight- 
necked  fox  held  on  till  past  Lindores,  Dunbog,  and 
Glenduckie.  This  wonderful  chase  came  to  an  end  on 
the  banks  of  the  Tay.  Whether  the  hounds  killed  their 
quarry  or  not  will  never  be  known,  but  it  will  be 
remembered  for  many  a  long  day,  that  Colonel 
Anstruther  Thomson  found  a  fox  on  the  banks  of  the 
Forth  and  ran  him  to  the  banks  of  the  Tay ;  and  though 
he  did  not  return  home  laden  with  the  spoils  of  his 
enemy,  still  J  venture  to  think  that  the  chase  of  Novem- 
ber 30th,  1877,  will  deservedly  hold  a  very  high  place 
among  his  other  great  achievements. 

HiSTOEY   OF   THE    FlFE    EOXHOUNDS. 


150 


HUNTING  SONG  OF  ME.  MEYNELL'S  TIME,  * 

ABOUT  1790. 

This  morning  at  work,  sowing  out  of  my  hopper. 
Troth !  who  should  come  by  but  Dick,  the  earth-stopper. 
Stop  !  Hark  ye  !  says  he,  I  think  there  be  hounds  : 
Ods  Bobs  !  they  are  Meynell's  3  I  hear  his  Gad  zounds. 
(Eepeat)      With  my  Ballina  mona  ora, 

Squire  Meynell  's  the  hunter  for  me. 

If  we  head  him  he'll  d —  us.     We  view !  Tally  ho  ! 
Whilst  the  hounds  ring  the  scent  from  the  valley  below. 
All  carrying  a  head,  Sir,  like  pigeons  in  flight, 
And  beating  the  red  coats  almost  out  of  sight. 

The  hounds  of  Squire  Meynell  for  me. 

From  the  Coplow  they  came,  and  to  Enderby  go ; 
Then  let  us  observe  who  rides  over  them  now ; 
Then  cease,  my  dear  Squire,  oh  !  cease  your  alarm, 
For  by  Gosh !  there 's  no  rider  can  do  them  much  harm. 
Squire  Meynell 's  the  hunter  for  me. 

The  first  in  the  burst,  see !  yonder  comes  Maynard, 
Taking  all  in  his  stroke,  yet 's  obliged  to  strain  hard. 
And  next  him,  on  Marquis,  there's   dashing   Charles 

Windham, 
At  a  mortal  great  stride,  leaving  numbers  behind  him. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 


*Mr.  Delme  RadclifFe  mentions  this  as  "  a  very  old  song,"  and  says  it 
was  called  "A  Burst  from  Breedon  Clouds,"  but  in  the  printed  copy  kindly 
lent  me  by  Mr.  Cradock,  of  Quorn,  it  is  only  entitled  "  Hunting  Song." 


151 


Then,  funking  his  soul  out,  see  Eeatherstonehaugh, 
Who  thin  as  a  thread  is,  and  light  as  a  straw ; 
And  screwing  behind  him,  there  's  Titzherbert's  Dick, 
His  horse  half  done  up,  looking  sharp  for  a  nick. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Next  Dick  Knight  and  Smith  Assheton  we  spy  in  the  van, 

Eiding  hard  as  two  furies  at  catch  that  catch  can. 

"  Now  Egmont,"(i)  says  Assheton ;  "  Now  Contract/'(2) 

says  Dick, 
"By  Gosh !  these  d — d  Quornites  shall  now  see  the  trick." 
No  Northamptonshire  hunters  for  me. 

Now  smack  at  a  yawner  rides  Winchilsea's  Peer,  (3) 
So  sure  to  be  thrown  on  Pyramid's  ear ; 
And  at  the  same  place  rides  Smith,  of  Loraine ; 
He  's  off — no — he's  on — he  hangs  by  the  mane. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Where  Yilliers  and  Forester,  Cholm'ley  and  all, 
Get  shopp'd  by  Loraine,  and  in  they  all  fall ; 

And  sweety  Morant,  that  red-headed 

With  Peyton  and  Foley,  are  left  in  a  ditch. 

The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Now  plump  on  the  saddle  see  Boothby,  (4)  the  great ; 
Why,  he 's  nervous  this  morning,  and  rides  for  a  gate ; 
And,  not  less  plump,  sits  friend  Bobby  Spencer,  (5) 
On  thumping  old  Milo,  and  bilking  the  fence,  Sir. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

1.  A  famous  hunter  of  Assheton  Smith's. 

2.  A  celebrated  hunter,  rode  by  Dick  Knight,  Lord  Spencer's  huntsman. 

3.  George,  8th  Earl  of  Winchilsea,  and  4th  Earl  of  Nottingham,  K.C, 
Lord  Lieut.  County  Rutland  succeeded  1769  ;  died  1826,  unmarried. 

4.  "  Prince"  Boothby,  (lived  with  Mr.  Meynell  at  Langton  Hall.) 

5.  Lord  Robert  Spencer. 


152 


Then  ecce  Prince  Orlines,(6)  who's  a  la  distance, 
Without  his  d — d  head,  which  is  freedom  in  France; 
But  alas  !  long  before  they  reach  Burrow  Hill 
^lonsieur  blows  his  'orse  to  von  total  stan'  still. 
No  Frenchified  hunters  for  me. 

Now  bobbing  along,  see  jolly  fat  Blower,(7) 
Flanks  and  shoulders  all  blood,  going  slower  and  slower. 
^'  Sarvant,  your  Holiness,  what  both  a  head  and  a  shoe? 
Thank  God,  I'm  not  last,  for  I've  beat  Parly  vous." 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Then,  half  up  the  hill,  stops  heavy  Jew  Francore, 
His  horse  taking  root,  and  himself  at  an  anchor; 
And  further  beyond  stops  White  Bread, (8)  the  brewer. 
Who,  last  from  the  first,  has  made  the  Grand  Tour. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Then  smoke  the  old  Quiz,  beginning  to  flag, 
Somerset,  Gad  Zooks  !  on  his  new  staring  nag : 
Why  look  ye !  observe  !  he  a  toe  can  scarce  wag, 
Yet  of  him  to-morrow  friend  Charley  wiJl  brag. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Next  vaulting  Tam  Grah'm,(9)  on  horse  taking  whim, 
Plunging  and  prancing  like  the  George  at  an  inn, 
Comes  spank  thro'  a  hedge  with  a  thundering  crush, 
And  leaves  half  his  brogues  and  a  lug  on  a  bush. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 


6.    Prince  of  Orleans.  7.    A  woolcomber,  uf  Leicester. 

The  late  Samuel  Whitbread.  9.    The  present  Lord  Lynedoch. 


153 


Next  chimney  chops  Aston,  using  arms,  spur,  and  whip, 
To  keep  MoU  Cook's  legs  from  plunging  each  grip ; 
Makes  he  on  to  three  rails,  where  sticks  little  Hugo, 
Who,  glad  to  give  way,  says,  "  Pray  Sir,  do  you  go." 
So  Smut  breaks  his  neck,  and  young  Master  Hug 
Slides  over  as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug. 
Then  Commodore  Harvey,  on  horse  he  can't  guide. 
Bears  to  the  same  gap,  at  a  seamanlike  stride ; 
Steers  o'er  the  dead  lubber,  and  makes  three  fresh  wounds. 
And  at  the  next  place  kills  all  the  tail  hounds. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Then  next,  with  a  star  on,  see  Bassador  Gordon, (lo) 
And  over  his  shoulder  a  fine  flaming  cordon ; 
And  racing  against  him,  see  stare-about  Stair;  (n) 
Why  old  Nick  himself  never  saw  such  a  pair. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Then  whence  these  goose-drivers,  all  in  a  row. 

Leading  their  tits  on  the  furlongs  below  ? 

'Tis  Cranberry,! 1 2)  George,(i3)  and  Saint  Le  Hedger  (14) 

from  Grantham, 
Who  always  get  dos'd  with  their  quotums  and  quantum. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Then  far  in  the  rear  we  see  Saville,  forlorn, 
All  legs,  laps  and  lappets,  sobbing  on  Boan ; 
How  they  stick  in  the  mud;  whilst  Bedford's  great  Duke, 
With  Brommell,  is  sticking  in  Sysonby  brook. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

10.  Sir  William  Gordon,  Ambassador  to  Vienna. 

11.  Ambassador  to  Poland  ( John,  5th  Earl  of  Stair,  born  1749  ;  died  iSai. 
Succeeded  to  the  title  1789,  which  shows  the  song  to  be  written  after  that 
date). 

12.  Sir  Carnaby  Haggerstone,  commonly  called  Cranberry  Tart. 
(  Succeeded  1777  ;  died  1831.) 

13.  Lord  George  Cavendish  (who  with  Mr.  Boothby  was  at  first  the  only 
other  subscriber  to  Mr.  Meynell's  hounds.) 

14.  Colonel  St.  Ledger. 


154 


Next  a  tickle-heel  sportsman,  called  Heyrick  the  black, 
"We  descry  in  the  vale,  half  a  league  from  the  pack  ; 
And  further  beyond,  see  Heyrick  the  white, 
A  sportsman  by  system,  who  never  rides  straight. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Then,  last  in  the  cluster,  see  "Worcester  (15)  and  Muster ; 
Now  Worcester  beats  Muster,  (16)   now  Muster   sets 

Worcester ; 
Now  Muster  seems  burst.  Sir,  and  Worcester  gets  first, 

Sir; 
Such  fumblers  as  these  be  ought  both  to  be  curst.  Sir. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

But  Bob  Lee,  where 's  he,  and  wood-fisted  Cox  ? 
Why  they'll  tell  you  they  stopp'd  to  hallo  the  run  fox ; 
But  so  broad  as  the  Smite  is,  we  guess  they  got  flung  there, 
And  are  shopped  in  a  barn,  with  friend  Arthur  at  Plungar. 
The  lads  of  Quorendon  for  me. 

Now  cheering  all  Nature,  Squire  Meynell  we  spy. 
Making  ev'ry  heart  thrill  with  his  "  Hark  to  the  cry ! " 
Look  how  he  caps  them  on,  hear  how  he  screams. 
And  makes  the  whole  world  glow  in  rapture's  extremes. 

See  now  they  seem  to  spread — 

Lord,  what  a  noble  head  ! 
Tally  ho  !  Tally  ho !  the  hounds  in  full  cry ! 

See  how  the  scent  they  drive. 

No  horse  can  with  them  live. 
Hark  away !  Hark  away !  they  to  Enderby  go. 

15.  Henry    Charles,  Marquis  of  Worcester,    afterwards  6th  Duke   of 
Beaufort,  born  1766  ;  succeeded  1803. 

16.  John    Musters,    of  Colwick,  born   1754,   died  1827 ;    father  of  the 
celebrated  gentleman  huntsman,  John  Musters,  born  1777. 


155 


Next,  thumbs  up,  heels  down,  see  Conyer's  Jack, 
So  rosy,  so  active,  pushing  right  'cross  the  pack ; 
Cracking  and  whooping,  '' '  Ware  poison !  'ware  nox  !" 
Which  drove  Meynell  stark  mad,  and  lost  us  the  fox. 

Then,  as  we  trudge  home,  we  pass  Master  Swaddle, 
Whipping  Pastime  before  him,  and  carrying  the  saddle  : 
"  Grood  people,"  says  he,  "  do  you  think  she  will  die 
Now  I've  bled  her  myself,  in  her  mouth  and  her  thigh  ?" 

"  Now  let's  to  this  ale-house,"  says  Dick,  '*for  awhile. 
And  drink  our  old  Maister  in  a  cup  of  the  mild ; 
And  as  we  sit  boozing  it  over  the  fire. 
Drink  long  life,  health,  riches,  and  sport  to  the  Squire." 

By  Mr.  Loeaine  Smith. 

Mr.  Delme  Eadcliffe,  in  that  fascinating  work,  called 
*'  The  Noble  Science  of  Foxhunting,"  gives  the  following 
particulars  of  Mr.  Loraine  Smith,  the  author  of  the 
preceding  poem : — 

"Of  Mr.  Loraine  Smith,  as  a  sportsman,  it  is  unneces- 
sary to  speak.  We  may  gather  his  character,  in  some 
part,  from  the  verses  of  several  songs.  *  *  * 
The  horse  he  rode  on  the  day  of  the  Billesdon  Coplow 
run  was  purchased  of  Mr.  Cave  Brown.  He  was  a 
brilliant  hunter,  got  by  Mercury.  He  was  sold  to  Mr. 
Eox  Lane's  father,  at  Bramham.  Mr.  Loraine  Smith 
was  a  skilful  master  of  his  pencil;  and  beneath  a 
painting,  descriptive  of  the  chase,  appears  the  following 
faithful  record  of  this  run  : — 

"  A  view  of  Mr.  Meynell's  hounds,  carrying  a  head 
with  their  second  fox,  at  the  end  of  a  chase  from 
Billesdon  Coplow,  Leicestershire :  passed  Tilton  Woods, 


.156 


kSkeffington  Earths,  crossing  the  river  Soar  below 
Whitstone,  to  Enderby  Warren,  making  a  distance  of 
twenty-eight  miles,  which  was  run  in  two  hours  and 
fifteen  minutes,  on  Monday,  February  24th,  1800. 

"I  conclude  this  memoir  with  a  laughable  epitaph 
upon  the  Enderby  Squire,  written  some  years  previous 
to  his  death,  by  a  Mr.  Monro,  with  a  rejoinder  by 
another  talented  friend,  Mr.  Heyrick : — 

"  Here  lies  the  tall  Squire  of  Enderby  Hall, 

With  his  bridles,  boots,  fiddle,  brush,  colours  and  all. 

Some  liked  his  scraping,  tho'  none  of  the  best ; 

And  all  liked  the  welcome  he  gave  to  his  guest. 

His  taste  was,  in  horses  and  hounds,  orthodox, 

And  no  man  can  say  he  e'er  headed  the  fox. 

In  the  dog  days,  or  frost,  when  the  kennel  was  mute, 

Each  turn  with  the  turn  of  his  humour  to  suit ; 

As  the  weather  still  changed,  still  his  plans  he  would 

change, 
Now  be-rhyming  some  Stella,  now  curing  the  mange. 
Now  the  State  he'd  reform,  now  mend  an  old  door, 
Now  scrawl  a  lampoon,  now  a  caricature. 
Ever  last  down  at  dinner,  and  first  at  a  snore : 
Sure  enough  he  had  faults,  but  his  faults  are  now  o'er. 
Lack  aday !  that  our  Enderby  Squire  should  be  lost ! 
Can't  you  guess  what  he  died  of  ?  a  bitter  hard  frost." 

The  Squire's  Eesurrection,  by  Heyrick,  Esq. 
"  Oh !  how  could  you  bury  our  neighbour  so  soon  ? 
Why,  his  boots  were  just  black'd  and  his  fiddle  in  tune ; 
Asa  staunch,  steady  sportsman,  and  quite  orthodox, 
He'd  been  taking  a  glass  to  the  hounds  and  the  fox  : 
In  his  moments  of  mirth,  he  would  sometimes  drink  deep ; 
When  you  thought  he  was  dead,  he  was  only  asleep !" 

Mr.  Loraine  Smith  died  the  23rd  of  August,  1835, 
in  the  85th  year  of  his  age. 


157 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  QUOEN  COUNTEIE. 

"When,  careful  of  his  goods  or  spouse, 

A  strong  man  armed  doth  keep  his  house, 

It  may  be  termed  for  him  a  bore 

To  find  a  stronger  at  his  door, 

Who  binds  the  strong  man  at  his  ease. 

Pockets  his  cash  and  all  he  sees ; 

And  tho'  he  does  not  take  his  life 

Is  far  from  civil  to  his  wife. 

The  ex-strong  man  looks  on  the  while 

Without  the  least  desire  to  smile ; 

At  least,  I  take  it  such  would  be 

The  case,  did  such  things  chance  with  me. 

There  lived — I  do  not  deal  with  dates — 
A  champion  *  of  the  heavy  weights. 
Who  over  Leicestershire  had  done 
Great  things  in  spite  of  sixteen  stone ; 
Eor  many  years  had  been  admired 
Eor  going  when  the  rest  were  tired ; 
Who  fear'd  no  timber,  liked  a  brook, 
Could  calmly  at  a  bullfinch  look. 
And  thought  himself  in  all  his  glory 
Just  at  the  period  of  my  story. 

But  often  when  we  feel  most  sure 
We're  apt  to  be  the  least  secure. 
And  Gilmour,  happy  and  content. 
With  long  established  precedent, 
By  all  men  honoured  and  respected, 
Was  rivall'd  when  he  least  expected. 

•  Mr.  Little  Gilmour. 


158 


'Twas  in  November's  dreary  sky 

Strange  meteors  were  seen  to  fly, 

And  rumour  spread  through  all  the  land 

That  some  convulsion  was  at  hand ; 

And  presently  the  fact  was  known 

That  one  who  weighed  good  seventeen  stone, 

Light  of  hand  and  firm  of  seat, 

Arrived  at  Quorn,  was  bad  to  beat. 

Well,  all  men  deemed  the  fact  absurd, 
And  Gilmour  laughed  at  what  he  heard ; 
And  not  until  he  saw  the  man 
The  sinking  in  his  boots  began. 

"When  first  he  shewed,  beside  the  gorse. 

Colossal  seem'd  his  coal-black  horse  ; 

His  frowning  brow  and  deep-set  eye 

His  heart's  resolve  did  not  belie. 

Not  oft  he  smiled,  but  if  a  trace 

Of  mirth  did  flit  across  his  face 

No  joy,  I  ween,  it  might  impart. 

But  chill'd  the  shuddering  gazer's  heart ; 

And  Gilmour,  at  that  harrowing  look, 

Down  to  his  very  small  clothes  shook. 

When  towards  him  with  the  lightning's  speed 

The  stranger  spurred  his  fiery  steed. 

"My  name,"  he  said,  "is  Peter  Miles, f 
And  there  is  none  like  me 
Erom  Land's  End  to  Northumberland 
And  all  the  North  Countrie. 


t  Colonel  Charles  Miles. 


159 


"  You  Melton  men,  ye  Leicester  knaves, 
Come  ride  with  me,  say  I, 
Five  minutes  over  Skeffington, 
And  then  lie  down  and  die. 

"I've  heard  of  you,  Sir  Grilliemore, 
I  know  you  're  all  my  eye  ; 
I'll  cut  you  down,  and  hang  you  up. 
Aye,  hang  you  up  to  dry ! 

"  Tou  funking  wretch,  I  know  you, 
How  you  shudder  at  a  rail ! 
How  you  shun  the  bristly  bullfinch, 
And  at  a  brook  turn  tail. 

"  So  here  I  seize  your  trophies 
With  every  mark  of  scorn. 
And  hang  up  your  reputation 
In  the  dining  room  at  Quorn." 

He  ceased — I  fear  my  voice  must  fail 
To  tell  the  sequel  of  my  tale : 
But  he  who  was  not  wont  to  brook 
A  hasty  word  or  angry  look, 
Now,  with  a  meek  submissive  face, 
Yielded  the  trophies  of  the  chase ; 
Without  a  blow  resigned  his  sway. 
And  Miles,  triumphant,  leads  the  way. 
Thenceforth  from  gates  and  brooks  he  shrunk, 
Thenceforth  by  all  was  called  a  "funk." 
Such  is  the  fate  of  human  glory, 
Such  the  sad  sequel  to  my  story. 


160 


I  cannot  tell  the  year  of  grace 
In  whicli  these  things  were  taking  place ; 
But  this  I  know,  a  portly  Squire 
Now  bruises  over  Leicestershire, 
Whom  Sutton  X  loveth  to  commend 
His  "  Guide,  Philosopher  and  Friend," 
And  none  with  him  dispute  the  right 
To  lead  the  field  from  morn  to  night. 
But  tho'  among  the  thrusting  train 
You  seek  for  Gilmour's  face  in  vain, 
Wait  till  the  second  horsemen  pass, 
You  see  a  form — tis  his,  alas  ! 
A  heavy  man  who  funks  the  stiles. 
And  shudders  at  the  name  of  "  Miles." 

MOHAL. 

Such  is  the  lot  of  mortal  man  ! 
Where  Gilmour  ended,  Miles  began  ; 
And  Miles  in  turn  must  yield  his  sway, 
For  "  every  dog  must  have  his  day." 

W.  Dayenpoet  Beomlet. 


HUNTING  SONG  OF  SIR  HARET 
GOODRICKE'S  TIME. 

The  lark  forgets  her  summer  song. 

The  rose  forgets  its  bloom, 
And  murky  clouds  are  borne  along 

To  aid  the  wintry  gloom. 


t  Sir  Richard  Sutton  hunted  the  Quorn  cimntry  from  1 847 
till  his  death  in  1855. 


161 


The  woods,  where  nature  hung  her  lute 
To  teach  sweet  birds  her  tone, 

Are  hush'd ;  the  sylvan  groves  are  mute ; 
The  hills  are  pensive  grown ; 

The  dancing  ripples  of  the  lake 

Are  changed  to  sullen  waves ; 
The  solitary  water-crake 

Its  cheerless  bosom  laves. 

But  joy  awakes  the  sluggish  morn. 

The  mists  now  melt  away  ; 
The  huntsman  blithely  winds  his  horn, 

The  willing  hounds  obey. 

Sir  Harry  's  (i)  forward  in  the  field, 
Greene,(2)  Gardner,(3)  sportsmen  true ! 

And  more  to  whom  bright  fame  must  yield 
The  praises  justly  due. 

Lord  Wilton,(4)  Stanley,(5)  Errington,(6) 
Seem  scarce  to  touch  the  rein, 

As  gallantly  they  rush  along 
O'er  hill  and  grassy  plain. 


1.  Sir  Harry  Goodricke,  died  1833. 

2.  Mr.  Greene,  of  Eolleston,  afterwards  Master  of  the  Quom  Hotinds 
from  i84i  to  1S47. 

3.  Lord  Gardner,  died  1883. 

4.  Lord  Wilton,  died  1884. 

5.  Mr.  Massey  Stanley,  Mr.  Errington's  brother. 

6.  Mr.  Errington,  afterwards  Master  of  the  Quom  Hounds  from  1835 
to  1838. 


162 


*'  There 's  Greene,  as  usual,  far  before," 
Cries  handsome  Edward  Thynne ;  (7) 

Kinnaird,(8)  and  Eokeby,(9)  and  Grilmour — (10) 
By  Jove,  I  must  nick  in  1 " 

He  said,  then  urged  his  gallant  steed. 

No  fence  for  him  too  high ; 
He  look'd  the  true  bold  hunter  bred — 

"  Toiks,  yoiks,  the  fox  shall  die ! " 

'•  Maher  (11)  and  Moore  (12)  still  take  their  stand 

High  in  the  list  of  fame, 
And  friendship  wreathes  the  social  band 

With  Musgrave's  (13)  sporting  name. 

Melton !  again  that  sportsman's  town 

Boasts  many  a  noble  guest ; 
Statesmen  and  heroes  of  renown 

The  exulting  soil  have  pressed. 

Long,  long  may  we  those  names  enrol, 

And  Groodricke's  (14)  lend  a  grace. 
For  fame  to  waft  from  pole  to  pole 

The  triumphs  of  the  chase. 

From  the  Sporting  Magazine  foe  1841. 


7.  Lord  Edward  Thynne. 

8.  Lord  Kinnaird. 
g.  Lord  Rokeby. 

10.  Mr.  Little  Gilmour,_  living  1885. 

11.  Valentine  Maher,  died  1844. 

12.  Mr.  Moore,  son  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 

13.  Sir  James  Musgrave. 

14.  Sir  Harry  Goodricke,  died  1833. 


163 


BILLESDON  COPLOW. 
Monday,  Febeuaey  24:TH,  1800. 

"  Quceque  ipse  miserrima  vidi,  ei  quorum  pars  magna fuiJ' 

With  the  wmd  at  north-east,  forbiddingly  keen, 
The  Coplow  of  Billesdon  ne'er  witness'd,  I  ween, 
Two  hundred  such  horses  and  men  at  a  burst — 
All  determin'd  to  ride,  each  resolved  to  be  first. 
But  to  get  a  good  start  over  eager  and  jealous. 
Two-thirds  at  the  least  o£  these  very  fine  fellows 
So  crowded  and  hustled,  and  jostled  and  cross'd. 
That  they  rode  the  wrong  way,  and  at  starting  were  lost. 
In  spite  o£  th'  unpromising  state  of  the  weather 
Away  broke  the  fox  and  the  hounds  close  together  j 
A  burst  up  to  Tilton,  so  brilliantly  ran. 
Was  scarce  ever  seen  in  the  mem'ry  of  man : 
What  hounds  gained  the  scent,  or  which  led  the  way. 
Your  bard,  to  their  names  quite  a  stranger,  can't  say, 
Tho'  their  names,  had  he  known,  he  is  free  to  confess 
His  horse  could  not  shew  him  at  such  a  death  pace. 
Villiers,  Cholmondeley,  and  ^Forrester  made  such  sharp 

play, 
Not  omitting  Germain,  never  seen  till  to-day ; 
Had  you  judged  of  these  four  by  the  trim  of  their  pace 
At  Bib'ry  you'd  think  they'd  been  riding  a  race. 
But  these  hounds,  with  a  scent,  how  they  dash  and  they 

fling! 
To  o'er-ride  them  is  quite  the  impossible  thing. 
Disdaining  to  hang  in  the  Wood,  thro'  he  raced, 
And  the  open  for  Skeffington  gallantly  faced. 
Where,  headed  and  foiled,  his  first  point  he  forsook, 
And  merrily  led  them  a  dance  o'er  the  brook. 


164 


Passed  Galby  and  Norton,  Great  Stretton  and  Small, 
Eight  onward  still  sweeping  to  old  Stretton  Hall, 
Where  two  minutes'  check  serv'd  to  shew,  at  one  ken, 
The  extent  of  the  havoc  'mongst  horses  and  men : 
Such  sighing,  such  sobbing,  such  trotting,  such  walking, 
Such  reeling,  such  halting,  of  fences  such  baulking ; 
Such  a  smoke  in  the  gaps,  such  comparing  of  notes. 
Such  quizzing  each  other's  daub'd  breeches  and  coats. 
Here  a  man  walked  afoot  who  his  horse  had  half  killed, 
There  you  met  with  a  steed  who  his  rider  had  spill'd ; 
In  short,  such  dilemmas,  such  scrapes,  such  distress 
One  fox  ne'er  occasion'd,  the  knowing  confess. 
But,  alas,  the  dilemmas  had  hardly  begun ! 
On  for  Wigston  and  Ayleston  he  resolute  ran. 
Where  a  few  of  the  stoutest  now  slacken'd  and  panted, 
And  many  were  seen  irretrievably  planted. 
The  high  road  to  Leicester  the  scoundrel  then  crossed, 
As  Tell  Tale  (i)  and  Beaufremont  (2)  found  to  their  cost ; 
And  Yilhers  esteem'd  it  a  serious  bore 
That  no  longer  could  Shuttlecock  (3)  fly  as  before. 
Even  Joe  Miller's  (4)  spirit  of  fun  was  so  broke 
That  he  ceased  to  consider  the  run  as  a  joke. 
Then,  streaming  away,  o'er  the  river  he  splashed, 
Germain,  close  at  hand,  off  the  bank  Melon  (5)  dash'd : 
Why  the  Dun  prov'd  so  stout  in  a  scamper  so  wild — 
Till  now  he  had  only  been  rode  by  a  Child.  (6) 
After  him  plung'd  Joe  Miller,  with  Musters  so  slim. 
Who  twice  sank  and  nearly  paid  dear  for  his  whim, 
Not  reflecting  that  all  water  melons  must  swim. 


I.  Tell  Tale.— Mr.  Forrester's  horse. 

8.  Mr.  Maddock's  horse. 

3.  Lord  Villiers'  horse. 

4.  Mr.  Musters'  horse. 

5.  Mr.  Germain's  horse. 

6.  Formerly  the  property  of  Mr.  Child,  to  whom  this  Hunt  is  perhaps 
indebted  for  the  present  spirited  style  of  riding  to  hounds. 


165 


Well  sous'd  by  their  dip  on  they  bmsli'd  o'er  the  bottom, 
With  liquor  on  board  enough  to  besot  'em. 
But  the  villain,  no  longer  at  all  at  a  loss, 
Stretch'd  away  like  a  devil  for  Enderby  Gorse, 
Where,  meeting  with  many  a  brother  and  cousin, 
Who  knew  how  to  dance  a  good  hay  in  the  furzen, 
Jack  Eaven  (7)  at  length,  coming  up  on  a  hack 
Which  a  farmer  had  lent  him,  whipp'd  off  the  game 

pack. 
Eunning  sulky,  old  Loadstone  (8)  the  stream  w5uld  not 

swim. 
No  longer  sport  proving  a  magnet  to  him. 
Of  mistakes  and  mishaps,  and  what  each  man  befell, 
Would  the  Muse  could  with  justice  poetical  tell ! 
Bob  Grrosvenor  on  Plush,  (9)  tho'  determin'd  to  ride. 
Lost  at  first  a  good  start,  and  was  soon  set  aside ; 
Tho'  he  charg'd  hill  and  dale,  not  to  lose  this  rare  chase, 
On  Velvet,  Plush  could  not  get  footing,  alas ! 
To  Tilton  sail'd  bravely  Sir  Wheeler  O'Cuff, 
Vv^here,  neglecting  thro'  hurry  to  keep  a  good  Luff", 
To  leeward  he  drifts — how  provoking  a  case ! 
And  was  forc'd,  tho'  reluctant,  to  give  up  the  chase. 
As  making  his  way  to  the  pack 's  not  his  forte. 
Sir  Lawley,  (10)  as  usual,  lost  half  of  the  sport : 
But  then  the  professed  philosophical  creed. 
That  "  All's  for  the  best "  of  Master  Candide, 
If  not  comfort,  Sir  E.  reconcile  may  at  least, 
For  on  this  supposition  his  sport  is  the  best. 
Orby  Hunter,  who  seem'd  to  be  hunting  his  fate. 
Got  falls  to  the  tune  of  no  fewer  than  eight. 


7.  Jack  Raven,  the  huntsman. 

8.  The  huntsman's  horse. 

g,    Mr.  Robert  Grosvenor's  horse. 

10.    Sir  Robert  Lawley,  not  unusually,  in  the  brief  language  of  Melton, 
called  Sir  Lawley. 


166 


Basan's   King  (n)    upon   Glimpse,  (12)    sadly   out   of 

condition, 
Puird  up  to  avoid  of  being  tir'd  the  suspicion. 
He  did  right,  for  Og  very  soon  found 
His   worst  had  he  done,  he'd  have  scarce  ghmps'd  a 

hound. 
Charles  Meynell,  who  lay  very  well  with  the  hounds, 
Till  at  Stretton  he  nearly  arrived  at  the  bounds, 
!N"ow  discover'd  that  Waggoner  (13)  rather  would  creep 
Than  exert  his  great  prowess  in  taking  a  leap ; 
But  when  crossing  the  turnpike  he  read,  "  Put  on  here," 
'Twas  enough  to  make  anyone  bluster  and  swear. 
The  Waggoner,  feeling  familiar  the  road, 
Was  resolv'd  not  to  quit  it,  so  stock  still  he  stood. 
Yet  prithee,  dear  Charles,  why  rash  vows  do  you  make, 
Thy  leave  of  old  Billesdon  (14)  to  finally  take  ? 
Since   from   Seg's   Hill    (15)  for    instance,    or  p'r'aps 

Melton  Spinney, 
If  they  go  a  good  pace  you  are  beat  for  a  guinea. 
'Tis  money,  they  say,  makes  the  mare  to  go  kind — 
The  proverb  has  vouch'd  for  this  time  out  of  mind ; 
But  tho'  of  this  truth  you  admit  the  full  force, 
It  may  not  hold  so  good  of  every  horse. 
If  it  did,  Ellis  Charles  need  not  hustle  and  hug 
By  name,  not  by  nature,  his  favourite  Slug.  (16) 
Yet,  Slug  as  he  is,  the  whole  of  this  chase 
Charles  ne'er  could  have  seen  had  he  gone  a  snail's  pace. 


11.  Mr.  Oglander,  who,  according  to  the  same  dialect,  goes  by  the  more 
familiar  appellation  of  Og. 

12.  Mr.  Oglander's  horse. 

13.  Mr.  Charles  Meynell's  horse. 

14.^  He  had  threatened  never  again  to  attempt  following  the  hounds 
from  Billesdon,  as  no  horse  could  carry  his  weight  up  to  them  in  that  part  of 
the  country. 

15.  A  very  diflferent  part  of  the  Hunt. 

16.  Mr.  Charles  Ellis's  horse. 


167 


Old  Gradus,  (17)  whose  fretting  and  fuming  at  first, 
Disqualified  strangely  for  sucli  a  tight  burst, 
Ere  to  Tilton  arriv'd  ceas'd  to  pull  and  to  crave, 
And  tho'  freshish  at  Stretton  lie  stepp'd  a  Pas  grave, 
Where,  in  turning  him  over  a  cramp  kind  of  place. 
He  overturned  G-eorge,  whom  he  threw  on  his  face ; 
And  on  foot  to  walk  home  it  had  sure  been  his  fate. 
But  that  soon  he  was  caught,  and  tied  up  to  a  gate. 
Near  Wigston  occurred  a  most  singular  joke : 
Captain  Miller  avow'd  that  his  leg  he  had  broke. 
And  bemoan'd  in  most  piteous  expressions  how  hard, 
By  so  cruel  a  fracture,  to  have  his  sport  marr'd. 
In  quizzing  his  friends  he  felt  little  remorse, 
To  finesse  the  complete  doing  up  of  his  horse. 
Had  he  told  a  long  story  of  losing  a  shoe. 
Or  of  laming  his  horse,  he  very  well  knew 
That  the  Leicestershire  creed  out  this  truism  worms, 
*'Lost  shoes  and  dead  beat  are  synonymous  terms."  (18) 
So  a  horse  must  here  learn,  whatever  he  does, 
To  die  game,  as  at  Tyburn,  and  "  die  in  his  shoes." 
Bethel  Cox  and  Tom  Smith,  Messieurs   Bennet  and 

Hawke, 
Their  nags  all  contrived  to  reduce  to  a  walk. 
Maynard's  Lord,  who  detests  competition  and  strife. 
As  well  in  the  chase  as  in  social  life. 
Than  whom  nobody  harder  has  rode  in  his  time. 
But  to  Crane  (19)  now  and  then  now  thinks  it  no  crime, 
That  he  beat  some  crack  riders  most  fairly  may  crow. 


17.    Mr.  George  Ellis's  horse. 

i8._  Indeed,  so  implicit  is  this  article  of  the  Meltonian  belief,  that  many  a 
horse,  in  addition  to  the  misfortune  of  breaking  a  hoof  from  losing  his  shoe, 
has  laboured  likewise  under  the  aforesaid  unavoidable  imputation,  to  his 
everlasting  disgrace. 

19.  Crane.— The  term  derives  its  origin  from  the  necessary  extension  of 
neck  of  such  sportsmen  as  dare  to  incur  the  reproach  by  venturing  to  look 
before  they  lecp. 


168 


For  he  liv'd  to  the  end,  though  he  scarcely  knows  how. 
With  Snaffle  and  Martingale  kept  in  his  real*, 
His  horse's  mouth  open  half  up  to  his  ear, 
Mr.  Wardle,  who  threatened  great  things  overnight,  (20) 
Beyond  Stretton  was  left  in  most  terrible  phght : 
Too  lean  to  be  pressed,  yet  egged  on  by  compulsion, 
No  wonder  his  nag  tumbled  into  convulsion. 
Ah !  had  he  but  lost  a  fore-shoe,  or  fell  lame, 
'Twould  only  his  sport  have  curtail'd,  not  his  fame.  (21) 
Loraine,  (22)  than  whom  no  one  his  game  plays  more 

safe, 
Who  the  last,  than  the  first,  prefers  seeing  by  half; 
What  with  nicking  (23)  and  keeping  a  constant  look  out, 
Every  turn  of  the  scent  surely  turn'd  to  account. 
The  wonderful  pluck  of  his  horse  surprised  some. 
But  he  knew  they  were  making  point  blank  for  his 

home. 
"  Short  home"  to  be  brought  we  all  should  desire 
Could  we  manage  the  trick  like  the  Enderby  Squire.  (24) 
Wild  Shelley,  (25)  at  starting,  all  ears  and  all  eyes, 
Who,  to  get  a  good  start,  all  experiments  tries ; 
Yet  contrived  it  so  ill  as  to  throw  out  poor  Gripsy,  (26) 
Whom  he  rattled  along  as  if  he'd  been  tipsy ; 


20.  Who  was  said  to  have  threatened  that  he  would  beat  the  whole  field 
the  next  day. 

21.  For  which  express  purpose,  more  than  sport,  some  are  silly  enough 
to  suppose  he  hunts ;  and  which,  though  he  did  actually  succeed  in  one 
instance  some  seasons  ago,  he  probably  will  never  do  again,  having  threatened 
it  frequently  since  with  as  little  success. 

22.  Mr.  Loraine  Smith. 

23.  A  term  of  great  reproach,  according  to  the  above  dialect,  to  those 
who  are  so  shabby  as  to  cut  across  to  the  hounds,  when  it  is  eeteemed  so 
much  more  honourable  to  follow  their  very  track ;  by  which  spirited  line  of 
conduct  they  may  be  pretty  certain  of  never  seeing  them  at  all. 

24.  Where  Mr.  Loraine  Smith  lives. 

25.  Sir  John  Shelley.— Wild  with  joy  upon  these  occasions,  must  be  here 
meant,  as  no  one  can  be  personally  more  serious  and  sedate ;  indeed,  if  the 
worthy  Baronet  has  a  foible  it  is  gravity. 

26.  Sir  John  Shelley's  mare. 


169 


To  catch  them  agam,  but  tho'  famous  for  speed, 

She  never  could  touch  (27)  them,  much  less  get  a  lead. (28) 

So   dishearten'd,  (29)   disjointed,   and   beat,  home   he 

swings, 
Not  much  unlike  a  fidler  hung  upon  strings. 
An  H.  H.,  (30)  who  in  Leicestershire  never  had  been, 
So  of  course  such  a  tickler  (31)  ne'er  could  have  seen, 
Just  to  see  them  throw  off,  on  a  raw  (32)  horse  was 

mounted. 
Who  a  hound  had  ne'er  seen,  or  a  fence  had  confronted. 
But  they  found  in  such  style,  (33)  and  went  off  at  such 

score,  (34) 
That  he  could  not  resist  the  attempt  to  see  more  : 
So  with  scrambling,  (35)  and  dashing, (36)  and  one  rattling 

fall,  (37) 

27.  Touch. — Meaning,  according  to  the  jMelton  dialect,  overtake. 

28.  Get  a  lead.— By  which  it  is  to  be  understood  securing  the  privilege 
of  breaking  your  mck  first,  and  when  you  fall,  of  being  rode  overby  a 
hundred  and  ninety-nine  of  the  best  fellows  upon  earth.to  a  a?m^  certainty. 

29.  Nor  can  that  astonish  anyone,  when  it  is  considered  what  an  ines- 
timable privilege  he  has  lost. 

30.  It  is  not  clear  whether  these  initials  are  meant  to  apply  to  a  Hamp- 
shire Hog  or  the  Hampshire  Hunt.  If  to  the  hog,  it  does  not  appear  that  he 
saved  his  bacon. 

31.  Tickler  (Meltonian).— A  run  so  severe  that  there  is  no  laughing  at  it. 

32.  Raw.— A  horse  who  knew  nothing  of  th©  business  he  was  going  about, 
or  wished  to  know. 

33.  Style  means  the  best  possible  manner  of  doing  anythmg  :  as 
for  instance,  when  a  man  rides  his  horse  full  speed  at  double  posts  and 
rails,  with  a  squire  trap  on  the  other  side  (which  is  a  moderate  ditch  of  about 
two  yards  wide,  cut  on  purpose  to  break  gentlemen's  necks),  he  is  then 
reckoned  to  have  rode  at  it  in  style,  especially  if  he  is  caught  in  the  said 
squire  trap. 

34.  Score  means  that  kind  of  pace  which  perhaps  neither  you  nor  your 
horse  ever  went  before,  and  if  you  have  not  more  luck  than  fails  to  the  share  of 
every  first  experiment  of  the  kind,  'tis  ten  to  one  but  he  falls  before  he  can 
(what  they  call)  get  on  his  legs— in  which  case  you  may  rest  perfectly  satisfied 
that  he  must  roll  over  you  two  or  three  times  at  least  before  he  can  stop 
himself. 

35.  Scrambling  means,  when  a  horse  does  not  leave  above  three  of  his 
legs  behind  him,  and  saves  himself  by  pitching  on  his  head. 

36.  Dashing  means,  when  a  man  charges  a  fence  (which  no  other  word 
can  express  so  fully),  on  the  other  side  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  guess  what 
mischief  awaits  him,  but  where  his  getting  a  fall  is  reduced  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible to  a  moral  certainty. 

37.  Rattling  fall,  Q.E.D. 


170 


He  saw  all  the  fun  up  to  Stretton's  white  hall. 
There  they  anchor'd — in  plight  not  a  little  distressing, 
The  horse  being  raw,  he  of  course  got  a  dressing. 
That  wonderful  mare  ol  Vanneck's,  who  till  now 
By  no  chance  ever  tir'd,  (38)  was  taken  in  tow : 
And,  what's  worse,  she  gave  Van  such  a  devilish  jog 
In  the  face  with  her  head,  plunging  out  of  a  bog, 
That  with  eye  black  as   ink,  or  as   Edward's   fam'd 

Prince, 
Half  blind  has  he  been,  and  quite  deaf  ever  since. 
"  But  let  not  that  mortify  thee,  Shacaback/'  (39) 
She  only  was  blown,  (40)  and  came  home  a  rare  hack. 
There  Craven,  too,  stopp'd,  whose  misfortune,  not  fault, 
His  mare  unaccountably  vex'd  with  string-halt ;  (41) 
And  when  she  had  ceas'd  thus  spasmodic  to  prance. 
Her  mouth  'gan  to  twitch  with  St.  Yitus's  dance.  (41) 
But  how  shall  describ'd  be  the  fate  of  Eose  Price,  (42) 
Whose  fav'rite  white  gelding  convey'd  him  so  nice 
Thro'  thick  and  thro'  thin,  that  he  vow'd  and  protested,  (43) 
No  money  should  part  them  as  long  as  life  lasted  ? 


38.  Which,  if  other  proof  were  wanting,  ascertains  beyond  anything 
else  the  severity  of  this  chase. 

39.  A  familiar  appellation,  borrowed  from  Blue  Beard,  and  bestowed  by 
his  friends  at  Melton  on  Mr.  Vanneck,  than  whom  nothing  can  more 
thoroughly  prove  the  estimation  in  which  his  society  is  held  there,  since  none 
but  good  fellows  are  ever  esteemed,  according  to  the  Meltonian  principles, 
worthy  of  a  nickname. 

40  Which  was  his  own  observation,  the  merit  of  which  I  would  scorn  to 
assume,  but  for  the  truth  of  which  (at  least  the  latter  assertion)  I  can  vouch,  as 
I  perfectly  agree  with  him,  that  I  never  saw  a  more  complete  hack,  though 
he  is  pleased  to  call  her  a  hunter. 

41 — 41.  Two  nervous  affections,  in  every  sense  of  the  word  very  distres- 
sing, especially  to  a  bystander  who  cannot  command  his  risible  muscles  upon 
so  melancholy  an  occasion. 

42.  A  gentleman,  of  whom  it  has  been  commonly  said,_  that  he  never 
returned  from  hunting  but  his  horse  was  sure  to  be  either  lame  or 
knocked  up. 

43.  At  the  cover-side  his  horse  had  been  particularly  admired,  and  a 
considerable  sum  of  money  offered  for  him. 


171 


But  the  pace  (44)  that  effected,  which  money  could  not, 
For  to  part,  and  in  death !  was  their  no  distant  lot : 
In  a  fatal  blind  ditch  Carlo  Khan's  (45)  prowess  failed. 
Where  no  lancet  (46)  nor  laudanum  (46)  either  availed. 
More  care  (47)  of  a  horse  than  he  took  could  take  no  man, 
He'd  more  straw  than  would  serve  any  lying-in  woman. 
Still  he  died !    Yet  just  how,  as  nobody  knows. 
It  may  truly  be  said,  he  died  "  under  the  Eose." 
At  the  death  of  poor  Khan,  Melton  (48)  feels   such 

remorse, 
That  they've  christen'd  that  ditch,  the  Vale  of  White 

Horse ! 
Thus  ended  a  chase,  w^hich  for  distance  and  speed 
Its  fellow  we  never  have  heard  of  or  read ; 
Every  species  of  ground  every  horse  does  not  suit — 
What's  a  good  country  hunter  (49)  may  here  prove  a 

brute ; 


44.  Which  is  a  complete  answer  to  that  important  question,  so  vauntingly 
asked  by  a  favourite  poet,  when  he  exclaims,  in  language  indeed  some- 
what bold, — "Pray,  what  can  do  that  which  money  cannot?" 

45.  The  name  of  poor  Mr.  Price's  horse. 

46 — 46.  Two  excellent  restoratives  where  the  patient  is  not  too  far  gone ; 
where  he  is  (as  in  the  present  case'.,  inimitable  soporifics. 

47.  Indeed,  it  is  only  to  be  lamented,  that  :Mr.  P.  had  not  taken  rather 
more  care  of  him  a  little  earlier  in  the  day,  which  probably  would  have 
obviated  the  necessity  of  this  accouchement. 

48.  Which  redounds  highly  to  the  credit  and  the  sympathy  of  the  Melton 
gentlemen,  and  completely  refutes  a  very  ill-natured  but  groundless  sup- 
position, that  their  sensibility  will  ever  suffer  them  to  make  a  joke  of  any 
such  heavy  loss  a  gentleman  may  happen  to  sustain,  especially  if  the  gentle- 
man happens  likewise  to  be  heavy  himself,  which  cf  course  doubles  the 
weight  of  the  misfortune, 

49.  As  every  country  gentleman  may  not  comprehend  the  force  of  this 
expression,  he  ought  to  know  that  the  Meltonians  hold  every  horse  who  can- 
not "Go  along  a  slapping  pace"—"  Stay  at  that  pace"— "Skim  ridge  and 
furrow  "— "  Catch  his  horses  "—  "  Top  a  flight  of  rails  "— "  Come  well  mto  the 
next  field" — "Charge  an  oxfence" — "Go  in  and  out  clever" — "Face  a 
brook" — "Swish  at  a  rasper"— and  in  short,  "Do  all  that  kind  of  thing" 
which  are  all  so  plain  and  intelligible,  that  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  their 
meaning, — that  horse  is  held  in  the  same  contempt,  in  Leicestershire,  as  a 
coxcomb  holds  a  country  bumpkin.  In  vulgar  countries  (i.e.,  all  others), 
where  these  accomplishments  are  not  indispensable,  he  may  be  a  hunter. 


172 


And  unless  for  all  sorts  of  strange  fences  prepared, 
A  horse  and  liis  rider  are  sure  to  be  scared. 
'Tis  variety  gives  constant  life  to  the  chase. 
But  as  Forrester  (50)  says,  "Sir,  what  kills  is  the  pace."  (5 1) 
In  most  other  countries  they  boast  o£  their  breed, 
For  carrying,  at  times,  such  a  beautiful  head ; 
But  these  hounds  to  carry  a  Head  cannot  fail, 
And  constantly,  too,  for  by  George !  there's  no  Tail.  (52) 
Talk  of  horses  and  hounds,  and  the  system  of  kennel, 
G-ive  me  Leicestershire  nags  and  the  hounds  of  Old 
Meynell. 

By  Me.  Lowth, 


Memoib  of  the  Mastership  of  the  Fifth 
Duke  of  Buccletjch, 

WALTER  FEANCIS  MONTAGU  DOUGLAS  SCOTT, 

Born  1806;  Died  1884. 

His  Grace,  in  1824,  when  eighteen  years  of  age  (with 
the  consent  of  his  guardians),  bought  the  hounds  of  Mr. 
Baird,  of  Newbyth  (grandfather  of  the  present  Sir 
David),  who  continued  to  manage  them  until  his  Grace's 
majority  in  1827,  in  which  year  he  took  up  the  country 


50.  a  gentleman  who  practically  explains  all  the  above  accomplishments, 
to  the  great  edification  of  young  horses  and  the  no  less  astonishment  of  weak 
minds. 

51.  A  favourite  maxim  of  Mr.  Forrester's,  of  the  truth  of  which  he  seldom 
loses  an  opportunity  of  endeavouring  to  make  his  friends  thoroughly  sensible. 

52.  As  heads  and  tails  are  here  not  to  be  understood  in  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  words,  and  as  all  ladies  are  not  sportswomen  enough  to  be 
aware  that  they  have  no  reference  to  the  human  head  or  tail,  they  should 
know  that,  when  you  can  "cover  the  hounds  with  a  sheet"  (which  any  Mel- 
tonian  will  explain  to  them  more  particularly),  they  are  then  said  to  carry  a 
beautiful  head.  When  (on  the  contrary)  they  follow  the  leader  in  a  line,  like 
a  flight  of  wild  fowl,  they  are  then  said  to  tail. 


173 


till  then  hunted  by  Mr.  Baillie,  of  Mellerstain,  which  he 
hunted,  unaided,  until  his  death. 

Frank  Collinson  hunted  them  for  about  a  year  after 
his  Grace  bought  them,  when,  having  a  bad  fall, 
Williamson,  who  had  been  first  whip  for  about  twelve 
years,  and  second  for  seven  previously,  became 
huntsman  in  the  spring  of  1825,  and  continued  so  until 
1862.  Tom  Philhps  succeeded  him  for  one  year,  when 
he  left,  and  I  succeeded  him  in  the  spring  of  1863 ;  thus 
making  his  Grace  a  master  of  the  same  pack  fifty-nine 
years.  Collinson,  who  whipped-in  to  John  King, 
succeeded  him  as  huntsman,  but  did  not  continue  long. 
He  was  pensioned  by  the  Lothian  Hunt,  and  lived  for 
many  years  after,  and  chiefly  rode  young  horses  for  his 
Grace  with  the  hounds. 

Old  Will  began  fife  with  Colonel  Hamilton,  of  Pen- 
eaitland,  in  the  stables,  his  father  being  groom.  He 
entered  to  hounds  under  John  King  in  1815,  after- 
wards marrying  John  King's  daughter. 

So  primitive  was  kennel  management  in  those  days, 
that  he  has  often  told  me  how  F.  Collinson  used  to  start 
off  the  night  before  hunting,  with  a  knife  and  sack, 
going  to  where  they  knew  a  horse  had  died,  skin  the 
horse,  score  him  (like  scoring  a  piece  of  pork),  and  come 
that  way  home  next  day  after  hunting,  and  let  the 
hounds  have  their  bellyful  of  him,  bringing  the  skin 
home  in  the  sack  in  front  of  him  on  the  horse.  What 
would  a  whip  of  the  present  day  say  to  you  if  you  were 
to  ask  him  to  do  this  now  ?  Wilhamson  thought  no 
shame  in  telHng  that  he  knew  nothing  at  all  about  ken- 
nel management  when  he  got  the  hounds  (nor  were  any 
others  about  here  then  any  fitter),  and  in  order  that  he 
might  learn  something  more  about  it,  and  his  business,  he 
rode  to  Eddlethorpe,  near  Malton,to  engage  a  kennelman 


174 


from  old  Tom  Carter,  who  hunted  Sir  Mark  Sykes' 
hounds  then,  and  engaged  John  Fobert  as  feeder,  and 
had  him  at  Dalkeith  for  several  years,  and  all  he  ever 
knew  of  kennel  management  he  learned  from  him.  He 
was  father  of  the  trainer,  John  Fobert,  who  afterwards 
trained  for  Lord  Eglinton. 

I  am  very  glad  you  have  asked  me  for  those  dates,  as 
I  have  had  them  so  many  times  from  the  late  Dake  him- 
self, who  delighted  to  tell  you  anything  connected  with  the 
hounds  and  country ;  and  from  "Williamson  I  think  I 
may  have  learned  more  about  the  country  then  and  now 
hunted  by  the  Duke  than  you  might  now  get  from  any 
other  quarter.  As  far  as  I  could  make  out  from  him,  the 
hounds  of  that  day  were  very  much  the  same  as  his 
Grace  liked  to  have  now — light,  racing,  rather  leggy 
hounds.  Of  late  years  they  are  shorter  on  the 
leg,  and  a  little  more  bone — what  old  Will  and  his 
Grrace  to  the  last  called  lumber. 

I  hope  these  few  notes  may  be  of  service  to  you.  If 
so,  I  will  be  very  pleased. 

(From  Col.  Anstruther  Thomson.) 

William  Shore. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 

GEORGE    WHYTE-MELYILLE, 

Died  1878. 

The  engineer  by  his  own  petard  slain. 

The  eagle  pierced  by  shaft  from  his  own  wing. 

Are  plaintive  fancies  such  as  poets  sing, 

And  touch  the  heart  but  coldly,  thro'  the  brain. 


175 


But  thou,  dear  George,  in  thine  own  sport  thus  ta'en, 

In  all  the  prime  of  manhood,  and  the  swing 

Of  gallant  gallop,  struck  stone  dead !  the  thing 

Appals  and  petrifies  the  mind  with  pain. 

Bright,  brave,  and  tender,  poesy's  pet  child, 

Romance  and  history's  lore  alike  were  thine ; 

Thy  wit  ne'er  wounded,  yet  the  contest  won. 

For  at  thy  jests  the  gravest  dullard  smiled. 

Last  scion  of  an  ancient  Scottish  line. 

Whose  "  old  folks  "  live  to  mourn  their  only  son. 

Lord  Eosslyn. 


EXTRACT   PEOM   "BAILY,"    1871. 

"  Why  is  it  we  so  seldom  hunt  up  to  a  fox  on  a  cold 
scent,  and  pick  him  up  creditably  at  the  end — so  ordinary 
an  occurrence  in  countries  where  one  would  imagine  it 
more  difficult  of  accomplishment  ?  Captain  Thomson 
does,  but  no  one  else  can.  It  is  far  from  my  business 
to  "  crab "  the  hunting  of  the  crack  packs,  but  there 
must  be  a  solution  to  the  problem  somewhere.  Un- 
doubtedly the  perfection  of  a  run  in  these  parts  is  five 
and  twenty  minutes,  with  a  scent  over  which  hounds 
need  not  falter  throughout,  and  a  kill  in  the  open  of 
course  adds  brilliancy  to  it.  This  is  the  sort  of  thing 
that  men  come  down  to  Leicestershire  to  see — that  they 
go  out  every  day  in  hopes  of— that  is  not  often  to  be  met 
with  even  there;  but,  when  experienced,  brings  with  it 
a  supreme  delight  that  is  not  to  be  found  anywhere  else. 
A  long  slow  run  in  a  fiying  country  is  often  irksome  in 
the  extreme,  particularly  when  it  degenerates  into 
hedgerow  hunting;    but  it  too  often  happens  that,  as 


176 


soon  as  hounds  cease  to  go  fast,  losing  the  fox  instead 
of  killing  him  becomes  merely  a  matter  of  time.  Mind, 
I  do  not  say  as  soon  as  hounds  have  to  put  their  heads 
down,  which  is  the  form  in  which  detractors  of  the  "  cut 
'em  down  "  countries  couch  their  attacks  ;  for  I  believe 
herein  Hes  part  at  least  of  the  explanation.  My  idea  is, 
that  so  long  as  grass  retains  a  scent  at  all,  hounds  can 
move  quick  over  it,  and  improve  it  as  they  go  along ;  in 
other  words,  that  when  they  can  run  at  all  they  can  run 
fast,  and  that  when  there  is  such  a  failure  of  scent  as 
to  cripple  them,  they  would  not  be  able  to  own  it  at  all  on 
the  plough.  The  Midlands  are  by  no  means  uninterrupted 
grass,  so  one  has  frequent  opportunity  of  observing 
that  when  hounds  seem  to  be  carrying  a  fair  head  over 
the  turf,  a  fallow  or  two  stops  them  at  once.  Another 
thing  is,  that  foxes  take  a  great  deal  more  killing  here 
than  they  do  elsewhere ;  they  are  of  a  stouter  breed 
(most  districts  having  at  sometime  or  other  been  stocked 
with  bold  Highlanders),  and  from  the  distance  apart, 
and  the  small  extent  of  the  covers,  they  travel 
more,  and  are  always  fit  to  go  before  hounds ;  so 
if  they  once  get  ahead  and  able  to  take  their  own  time, 
they  are  by  no  means  easily  overhauled.  The  real  way 
to  kill  foxes  in  the  Shires  is  to  get  away  close  at  them, 
and  burst  them  at  starting.  The  scent  is  then  hot  and 
firm,  the  hounds  are  not  over-ridden  by  the  field,  the 
foxes  have  no  time  to  twist  or  run  cunning,  and,  be  it 
a  good  scenting  day  or  a  bad  one,  there  is  more  chance 
of  accounting  for  them  than  by  trusting  to  slow  hunting. 
But  in  order  to  do  this,  a  huntsman  must  have  his  pack 
under  perfect  command,  and  it  is  absolutely  essential 
that  he  should  be  effectively  whipped  up  to.  To  this 
talent  of  getting  his  hounds  quickly  to  him  does  Gillard 
owe  his  success,  and  through  it  has  he  so  often  been  able 


177 


to  provide  sport  in  accordance  with  the  taste  of  the 
present  day. 

"  The  best  run  the  Belvoir  had  last  season  was  on 
the  loth  of  Eebruary,  when,  starting  from  Coston 
Covert,  they  hunted  steadily  for  between  two  and  three 
hours  (I  forget  the  exact  time),  going  well  for  the 
greater  part,  and  after  reaching  and  traversing  the  woods 
of  Morkery,  and  completely  "  sewing  up "  all  single 
horses,  at  last  killed  in  Grunby  Warren.  The  hounds 
appeared  to  be  never  once  olf  the  line ;  and  the  opinion 
that  they  had  not  changed  on  the  road  was  strengthened 
by  their  fox  being  as  stiff  as  a  board  when  taken  from 
the  hounds — a  thing  one  often  hears  of,  but  seldom  sees. 
Let  credit  be  given  where  credit  is  due.  Their  hunts- 
man, Gillard,  is  undeniable.  Starting  originally  from 
the  Belvoir,  he  went  to  school  under  Mr.  Musters,  who 
taught  him  his  work  in  Nottinghamshire,  and  then 
brought  him  to  handle  his  lady-pack  over  the  Quorn 
grass.  Here  for  two  seasons  he  did  justice  to  his 
hounds,  country,  and  Master,  and  has  now  mounted 
the  top  step  of  the  ladder.  He  has  a  whip,  too,  who 
has  learned  to  put  hounds  to  him  as  quick  as  lightning. 
Without  a  good  whip  there  cannot  be  a  good  huntsman, 
and  it  is  a  question  whether  a  bad  whip  does  not  do 
more  harm  than  good;  at  all  events,  more  than  one 
instance  occurred  last  season  of  an  indifferent  one 
completely  spoiling  a  promised  run.  Jack  Goddard  is 
set  down  as  having  been  almost  the  cleverest  whip  that 
has  ridden  over  Leicestershire  in  modern  times ;  while 
Machin,  who  was  with  the  Quorn  under  Mr.  Musters, 
and  is  now,  I  fancy,  playing  at  fox  and  hounds  among 
the  flints  and  hops  of  Kent,  was  as  good  a  model  as 
could  be  chosen ;  for  he  never  whipped  hounds  blindly 
off  a  scent,  but  put  them  round  sharp  when  necessary, 


M 


178 


could  ride  like  a  bird,  and  was  always  in  his  proper  place. 
Alas !  Mr.  Musters'  brilliant  pack  are  no  longer  the 
Quorn.  After  three  seasons,  in  which  they  have  shewn 
themselves  possessed  of  all  those  qualities  preeminently 
needful  for  the  Shires,  they  are  now  about  to  return  to 
Nottinghamshire,  where  Mr.  Musters  resumes  his  old 
country.  No  hounds  in  the  world  could  beat  them  to 
fly  on  a  good  scent,  every  single  hound  greedy  to  lay 
hold  of  it.  Carrying  it  before  them  without  one  idler 
to  take  things  for  granted,  they  would  spread  themselves 
out,  so  that  the  sharpest  turn  seldom  threw  them  at 
fault.  And,  with  all  their  dash  and  eagerness,  it  was 
especially  notable  that  they  never  allowed  themselves  to 
flash  a  yard  over  the  line,  or  even  to  strike  forward  in 
hopes  of  picking  it  up  again  beyond  the  point  to  which 
they  had  brought  it — so  common  a  weakness  o£  courage 
and  excitement.  Of  course  it  has  sometimes  happened 
that  they  have  been  determinedly  driven  over  the  line 
by  the  impetuous,  thoughtless  crowd  behind  them,  but 
often  have  I  seen  them,  when  running  hard,  spread 
right  and  left  the  moment  they  missed  the  guiding  per- 
fume from  their  nostrils,  then,  circling  round  again, 
take  it  up  in  front,  and  dash  ofl"  once  more  with  equal 
vigour.  Tor  actual  pace  in  a  burst,  it  is  a  question  if 
even  the  Belvoir  could  compare  with  them ;  and  yet  they 
never  forgot  the  lessons  in  steady  hunting  they  had 
learnt  in  the  colder  land  of  Nottinghamshire.  The  great 
difficulty  they  had  ever  to  fight  against  was  the  over- 
grown size  of  the  Quorn  fields — fields  composed  of  every 
variety  of  element,  the  genuine  by  no  means  predomin- 
ating on  all  occasions.  For  instance,  the  huge  cavalcade 
that  troops  forth  to  join  the  chase  whenever  it  is  fixed 
for  anywhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Leicester  or 
Loughboro',  is  indeed  an  incongruous  one ;  though,  true, 


179 


a  Friday  meet  can  also  boast  of  such  a  corps  of  hard 
and  finished  riders  as  is  not  to  be  seen  at  the  covert-side 
elsewhere.  On  these  occasions  it  is  next  to  impossible 
to  secure  fair  play  for  the  hounds,  should  the  scent  be 
a  poor  one,  or  the  fox  a  twister.  Hunting  is  out  of  the 
question,  and  all  that  can  be  hoped  for  is  a  straight,  quick 
gallop,  w^hen  the  pack  can  keep  moving  steadily  onwards. 
But  here  we  are  reminded  of  another  point  which  mili- 
tates greatly  against  any  certainties  o£  sport,  even  in  the 
favoured  regions  we  are  discussing;  and  that  is  the 
difficulties  that  beset  the  path  of  a  fox,  however  well  dis- 
posed, indeed  the  marvel  is,  that  we  ever  find  one  bold 
enough  to  face  the  open  at  all.  As  he  crosses  the  big  grass 
fields  he  has  no  shelter  from  the  eye  of  shepherd  or 
traveller,  who  can  view  him  a  mile  away,  and  who  are 
only  too  dehghted  with  the  chance  of  exercising  their 
lungs,  and  proving  their  love  of  sport,  by  sending 
screeches  o£  fearful  import  after  him.  They  are  still 
better  pleased  if  they  can  get  a  sheep  dog  to  course  him, 
and  many  a  time  have  I  heard  a  gentle  bucolic  recount 
with  glee  how  he  "  seed  him  a  coming,  looed  on  the  old 
dog,  and  uncommon  nigh  catched  him."  The  sheepdogs 
themselves  have  a  natural  predilection  for  chasing  a  fox ; 
and  though,  w^hen  they  succeed  in  coming  up  to  him  he 
can  invariably  drive  them  off,  the  run  is  generally  ruined 
by  their  interference.  More  sport  is  spoiled  by  these 
pastoral  scourges  than  any  other  cause ;  for  there  would 
seem  to  be  a  separate  dog  kept  for  each  sheep  in 
Leicestershire,  and  they  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  do 
mischief.  *  ^  ^  *  * 

It  was  said  only  the  other  day  by  a  sportsman  who 
numbered  his  years  of  hunting  by  scores,  that  "  he  had 
seen  one  lot  of  riding  men  succeed  another  in  Leicester- 
shire, but  he  had  never  seen  so  many  or  so  hard  as  those 
of  the   present   day."      Lord   Wilton's   name  will  be 


180 


handed  down  to  generations  to  come  as  the  most 
finished  rider  of  his  day ;  though  the  past  season  only 
saw  him  out  once,  and  it  was  even  feared  at  one  time 
that  he  would  hunt  no  more.  Lord  G-rey  de  Wilton 
though  is  never  likely  to  let  the  family  name  lose  its 
celebrity,  for  he  will  not  be  beat  in  the  field.  The  fence 
is  never  too  big  or  the  pace  too  quick  for  him ;  he  never 
takes  his  eye  off  the  hounds  when  they  are  running,  or 
at  a  momentary  difficulty,  and  is  invariably  close  at 
them;  and  riding  vigorously  at  all  his  fences, is  down 
but  seldom.  To  go  straight  down  to  a  rasper,  without 
turning  a  yard  right  or  left,  no  man  that  ever  crossed 
Leicestershire  can  surpass  Sir  Frederick  Johnstone; 
and  no  matter  how  wide  the  brook  or  strong  the  oxer, 
he  will  not  be  separated  from  the  hounds.  Nor  has  he 
only  the  merit  of  being  hard,  for  besides  being  a  fine 
horseman,  he  is  as  quick  away  as  a  rabbit ;  and  should 
hounds  slip  suddenly  ofi*,  he  is  almost  certain  to  get 
away  on  the  best  of  terms  wdth  them,  though  he  may 
have  been  unnoticeable  before.  Mr.  Eorster,  too,  who 
so  astonished  the  natives  during  his  first  season  in  these 
parts  (the  one  before  last,  1869 — 70)  by  the  way  he 
used  to  ride  at  big  timber,  still  keeps  up  his  character ; 
and  of  late,  has  built  his  reputation  chiefly  on  his  talent 
for  negotiating  the  almost  impracticable  "  bottoms " 
with  which  the  country  abounds.     *  *  * 

Now  we  come  to  one  who  has  made  a  wider  name  for 
himself  than  the  world  of  Leicestershire  has  given  him, 
and  who,  when  well  mounted,  and  in  the  full  glory  of  a 
stiff  country,  should  be  seen  to  be  appreciated,  viz., 
Captain  Smith,  of  steeplechase  renown.  *  *  -x- 
Lord  Calthorpe  was  going  as  straight  as  anyone  last 
season  ;  Colonel  Forester  seems  to  have  lost  neither 
nerve  nor  keenness ;  and  Mr.  Little  Gilmour  enjoys  his 
hunting  as  much,  and  forms  as  leading  and  pleasant  a 


181 


feature  in  the  field  as  ever.  *  *  :k 

Mr.  Banks  Wright  was  again  out  with  the  Quorn  several 
times  this  season,  and  gave  all  the  younger  generation 
a  chance  of  picking  up  a  wrinkle.  At  the  top  of  the 
welters  stand  Mr.  Fenwick  and  the  still  more  heavily 
weighted  Squire  Musters,  both  of  whom  give  some  stone 
and  a  beating  to  the  majority  of  their  finer  drawn 
companions. 

The  Quorn  country  requires  little  description  beyond 
the  passing  allusions  already  made  to  it.  No  part,  except 
perhaps  a  small  strip  round  Great  Dalby,  is  so  stiff  as  to 
be  impracticable ;  while  everywhere  it  requires  a  flying 
hunter,  and  is  just  within  the  powers  of  a  good  man 
and  a  good  horse  to  cross.  It  is  all  (mostly?)  grass, 
with  the  exception  of  a  patch  of  plough  here  and  there, 
and  when  a  certain  amount  of  rain  has  fallen,  never 
fails  to  carry  a  scent.  The  Loughborough  side  is  very 
different,  that  along  the  site  of  the  old  Charnwood 
Eorest  being  as  little  like  Leicestershire  as  can  be 
imagined ;  and  though  a  good  deal  of  low  wet  grass 
land  lies  below  this  rough  and  stony  woodland  country, 
the  face  of  the  land  carries  a  deal  of  unpleasant  dirt 
upon  it.  The  fields,  too,  are  a  great  contrast  to  the 
gay  throngs  that  one  is  accustomed  to  see  at  the 
covert  side  with  the  crack  packs.  Yet  Mr.  Musters 
used  to  enjoy  his  hunting  here  better  than  on  the  more 
fashionable  side,  for  (which  is  easily  understood)  hounds 
have  every  chance  given  to  them. 

Changing  the  scene,  we  find  ourselves  in  High 
Leicestershire — a  country  where  fox-hunting  should 
thrive  when  every  other  part  has  succumbed  to  brick 
and  mortar.  Yet,  with  all  its  charms,  it  falls  short 
of  being  the  hunter's  paradise  that  merely  a  long  ride 
to  covert  would  lead  one  to  suppose.  Eor  instance,  the 
big  woods  of  Owston,Launde,  Skeffington,Tugby  and  Co., 


182 


may  be  pleasant  enough  for  cub-hunting,  but  to  have 
to  bucket  your  horse  almost  to  a  standstill  in  the  deep 
rides,  and  then  sit  down  to  a  stern  chase  over  the  ridge 
and  furrow  and  well-nigh  impracticable  fences  of  the 
adjoining  pasturage,  is  not  felicity  to  every  mind. 
There  is  only  one  man  who  never  is  left  behind,  and 
afterwards  cannot  be  shaken  off,  and  that  is  Mr.  Tailby 
himself.  He  appears  to  get  away  by  a  kind  of  instinct, 
and  constant  practice  and  most  determined  resolution 
enable  him  to  make  light  of  difficulties  that  choke  off 
men  twenty  years  his  junior.  It  certainly  is  a  genuine 
drawback  to  some  of  his  best  country,  that  the  hardest 
field  have  to  tail  when  hounds  cross  it,  for  if  negotiable 
at  all,  it  is  only  so  in  one  or  perhaps  two  places ;  and 
you  may  lose  half  a  field  and  the  whole  of  your  pleasure 
while  waiting  your  turn  in  the  crush.  There  are  some 
few  districts  indeed  which  cannot  be  got  over  in  a  direct 
line  at  all,  Skeffington  lordship  being  about  the  best 
known. 

Since  the  above  was  written,  Colonel  Lowther  has 
formally  signified  his  intention  of  claiming,  after  next 
season,  that  part  of  Mr.  Tailby's  territory  which  properly 
belongs  to  the  Cottesmore.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  the  country  which  Mr.  Tailby  has  hunted  for  the 
last  fifteen  years  is  made  up  of  cessions  (or  temporary 
grants  would  express  it  more  properly)  from  the  Quorn 
and  the  Cottesmore,  and  was  originally  formed  for  Mr. 
Bichard  Sutton  during  his  father's  lifetime. 

*  *  *  Mr.  Tailby's  run  of  the  season 
(1870 — 71)  was  just  before  Goodall  was  laid  up,  and 
was  something  extraordinary  for  distance  and  country. 
This  was  on  Thursday,  February  16th,  from  Shankton 
Holt,  when  they  ran  fast  by  Illston,  Kolleston,  and  Key- 
thorpe,  over  a  stiff  turf  line  to  Allexton  Wood,  then 
hunted  on  by  Manton,  and  at  length  to  ground  near 


183 


Lyndon,  the  whole  distance — about  a  seventeen  mile 
point — being  got  over  in  two  hours  and  a  quarter. 
*  -x-  -x-  *  -x-  ■*  * 

Perhaps  no  country  could  give  the  same  amount  of 
pleasure  to  a  man  who  keeps  only  about  a  couple  of 
horses,  likes  to  ride  on  the  grass,  and  enjoys  hunting 
for  its  own  sake,  as  the  Atherstone  under  its  present 
administration.  Long,  slow-hunting  runs  are  entirely 
Captain  Thomson's  forte ;  and,  as  1  said  before,  he  does 
what  few  other  men  ever  attempt  in  a  grass  country, 
viz.,  to  walk  a  fox  to  death.  What  a  lesson,  too,  very 
many  huntsmen  might  take  from  him  in  the  matter  of 
going  to  halloas,  or  rather  7iot  going  to  them,  for  he 
decks  hunting  with  a  beauty  that  one  seldom  sees  in 
Leicestershire,  in  making  his  hounds  w'ork  out  every 
yard,  instead  of  getting  their  heads  up,  and  exciting 
them  so  that  they  never  again  put  them  properly  down, 
and  can  only  kill  with  the  help  of  mobbing  and  heading. 
When  a  cold,  weak  scent  has  to  be  followed  up,  and 
there  is  no  chance  of  your  gallop,  the  two  plans  amount  to 
a  question  of  whether  you  prefer  to  see  hounds  hunting, 
or  huntsmen  and  whips  blowing  and  flogging  them  from 
field  to  field." 

"  Sport  and  want  of  Spoet  in  the  Shiees." 


TO   NICOLAS,* 

WHO     WILL     NOT     ANSWEE     ANYTHING. 
Air:  "Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star." 
Thinking,  thinking  vainly,  ah ! 
How  I  wonder  where  you  are ! 
All  about  the  world  you  fly, 
Like  a  comet  in  the  sky, 
While  I'm  vainly  thinking,  "  Ah  ! 
How  I  wonder  where  you  are !  " 

*  Nicolas  Charlton,  Esq.,  a  well-known  sportsman  in  Nottinghamshire, 
Yorkshire,  and  Leicestershire,  between  which  countries  his  time  is  so  much 
divided,  that  his  friends  never  know  where  a  letter  will  find  him. 


184 


Thus  in  misery  despondent 
Sighs  each  wretched  correspondent. 
Ever  writing,  never  getting 
Answers,  but  for  ever  fretting, 
While  the  labour  and  the  cost 
Of  his  letters  all  are  lost. 
And  he's  thinking,  thinking,  "  Ah ! 
How  I  wonder  where  you  are  ! " 

If  to  Chil well's  frigid  swamp 
You  despatch  your  postage  stamp, 
Nicolas  you  then  may  swear 
"Will  be  anywhere  but  there  : 
Jumping  with  a  wild  delight 
On  the  hounds  of  Charley  Wright,  f 
Or  adding  to  his  load  of  sins 
By  gammoning  the  trusting  Binns  ;  t 
But,  wherever  he  may  be, 
Correspondents  still  you  see. 
Thinking,  vainly  thinking,  *'  Ah  ! 
Bow  we  wonder  where  you  are  !  " 

16th  Nov.,  1884.  L.  Rolleston. 


MY   OLD   HOEN: 
A  Song, 

DEDICATED     TO     MT     DEAR     OLD      FRIEND,      FREDEEICK 

BROCKMAN,  ESQ.,  WHO  FOR  THIRTY-SIX  TEARS  HUNTED 

THE     EAST     KENT     HOUNDS     WITH     UNFLAGGING 

PERSEVERANCE     AND     SIGNAL     SUCCESS. 

Now  up  in  the  heather,  now  down  in  the  plain. 

The  secret  shall  never  be  known. 
How  often  I've  pressed  it  again  and  again, 

That  sweet  little  lip  to  my  own ; 

t  The  Badsworth.  t  Mr.  Binns,  of  Leeds. 


185 


How  oft  on  the  moor  to  its  musical  note 

I've  bounded  away  like  a  deer, 
When  far  in  the  shade  o£  some  deep  mountain  glade 

Its  tidings  have  thrilled  on  my  ear. 

One  note  is  enough !  and  quickly  the  hounds 

O'er  Dartmoor  are  racing  away, 
And  for'rad  they  fling,  like  birds  on  the  wing — 

'Tis  a  stout  one  before  them  to-day. 
Then  Echo  enchanted  unites  with  delight 

The  lingering  notes  to  prolong, 
And,  roused  from  their  sleep  in  the  cavernous  deep, 

The  Naiads  are  charmed  with  the  song. 

Together  we've  traversed  the  mountain  and  mere, 

By  many  a  desolate  nook, 
And,  strolling  along,  have  joined  in  the  song 

Of  many  a  babbling  brook ; 
Then  wearied,  mayhap,  I've  slumber'd  awhile, 

Forgetting  the  world  it  would  seem ; 
Yet  still  on  my  ear  I  catch  a  sweet  cheer — 

'Tis  the  sound  of  a  horn  in  my  dream. 

Other  pleasures  will  pall,  leave  a  poison  behind, 

Or  oft,  like  a  mirage,  betray ; 
Other  lips  have  a  snare — oh !  I  bid  you  beware, 

For  I've  suffered  enough  in  my  day — 
But  pure  is  that  lip,  and  innocent,  too, 

The  pastime  it  ever  promotes ; 
And,  grey  as  I'm  grown^  I  blush  not  to  own 

That  I've  lavished  my  life  on  its  notes. 


186 


Old  friend  and  ally  !  to  bid  thee  '  Good  bye ' 

Is  a  struggle  I  long  have  deferred ; 
Though  the  day  is  far  spent,  and  the  warning  is  sent, 

It  chokes  me  to  whisper  the  word : 
But  if  mute  thou  must  be,  and  Time's  iron  will 

The  die  o£  the  future  has  cast, 
In  the  depths  of  my  heart  thou'lt  be  eloquent  still. 

While  memory  clings  to  the  past. 

Ah  no,  we'll  not  part !    As  the  Romans  of  old 

Their  Lares  were  wont  to  adore, 
Near  my  own  fireside  thou  shalt  ever  preside, 

To  warn  away  Care  from  my  door : 
There  still  thou  shalt  tell  of  mountain  and  fell, 

And  many  a  far-away  friend  ; 
And  ever  to  me  thy  presence  shall  be 

A  relic  of  joy  to  the  end. 

E.  W.  L.  Davies. 


A   LIST    OF    MASTEES    OF   THE   QUORN 
HOUNDS. 

I  SCARCELY  know  if  it  is  allowable  to  call  hounds  "  the 
Quorn  "  that  were  kept  elsewhere  than  at  Quorn,  but  as 
the  hounds  that  hunted  Leicestershire  have  been 
quartered  in  various  kennels  at  different  times,  I  shall 
take  leave  to  begin  my  list  with — 

Thomas  Bootliby,  Esq.,  of  Tooley  Parle,  Leicestershire, 
lorn  1677;  died\1^2. 

His  death  is  recorded  in  the  GentlemarCs  Magazine  for 
August,  1752,  as  follows  :  "  Thomas  Boothby,  of  Tooley 
Park,  Leicestershire,  Esquire,  one  of  the  greatest  sports- 


187 


men  in  England."     In  the  possession  of  Mr.  Corbet,  of 
Adderlej,  is  an  old  horn,  partly  of  horn  and  partly  of 


Mr.  Boothby's  Horn  (engraved  by  the  kind  permission  of  Mr.  Corbet). 


Ordinary  Horn. 

silver,  with  this  inscription:  "Thos.  Boothby,  Esq., 
of  Tooley  Park,  Leicestershire. — With  this  horn  he 
hunted  the  first  pack  of  foxhounds  then  in  England 
fifty-five  years.  Born  1677  ;  died  1752,  Now  the 
property  of  Thos.  d'Avenaut,  Esq.,  county  of  Salop,  his 
grandson."  This  horn  was  engraved  in  the  Field  news- 
paper some  years  ago,  and  is,  I  think,  one  of  the  most 
interesting  mementos  in  England,  showing  that  Leices- 
tershire possessed  a  ^'  crack  "  pack  of  hounds  nearly  200 
years  ago,  and  that  two  successive  sportsmen  hunted  the 
country  for  more  than  a  hundred  years.  In  Nicholl's 
History  of  Leicestershire  I  find  that  "  Tooley  Park  was 
purchased  by  Judith,  Lady  Corbett,  and  Mr.  Thomas 
Boothby,  her  son  by  her  first  husband,  enjoyed  it  in 
1848,  and  in  that  family  it  continued  till  1779,  when 
Skrymshire  Boothby,  Esq.,  sold  it."  Mr.  Thomas 
Boothby,  the  M.E.H.,  married  an  heiress  named  Scrim- 
shire  or  Scrymshire,  and  took  her  name  in  addition  to  his 
own.  He  had  a  son,  who  died  before  him,  a  granddaughter, 
Anne,  who  married,  as  his  second  wife,  Mr.  Meynell,  and 
a  grandson,  known  as  "  Prince  "  Boothby,  with  whom 


188 


Mr.  Meynell  lived  at  one  time,  and  who  is  often  men- 
tioned in  the  accounts  of  Mr.  Meynell's  sport,  and  as 
one  of  the  first  subscribers  to  his  hounds. 

"  The  name  of  Mr.  Boothby  is  still  had  in  reverence 
in  the  parish  of  JPeckleton.  It  is  even  said  that  he  was 
the  donor  of  the  present  peal  of  Church  Bells  belonging 
to  the  place,  and  that  he  had  them  so  pitched  and  tuned 
as  to  resemble  the  cry  of  a  pack  of  hounds.  Certainly 
the  said  bells  are  of  a  very  melodious  and  cheery  kind 
in  their  music.  The  horn  to  which  you  allude  is  also 
knowQ  by  tradition  in  Peckleton,  and  the  inscription  on 
it  has  probably  given  rise  to  the  saying,  that  Mr. 
Boothby  was  the  first  person  to  introduce  the  foxhound 
into  England,  whereas  most  likely  it  is  intended  to  con- 
vey the  idea  of  the  great  excellence  of  his  pack.  It  is 
also  said  that  Mr.  Boothby  altered  the  pattern  of  the 
hunting  horn,  which,  until  that  time,  was  of  the  shape 
seen  in  old  pictures  slung  around  the  body." — Letter 
from  the  Eev.  the  Hon.  Augustus  Byeon. 

Hugo  Meynell,  of  Bradley,  1753  to  imO.—Born  1735 ; 

died  1808. 

Mr.  Boothby  having  died  in  1752,  the  following 
year,  1753,  Mr.  Meynell,  then  only  eighteen,  began  his 
long  and  successful  hunting  career,  which  ended  in 
1800,  when,  in  consequence  of  his  son's  ill-health,  Nicholl 
says,  "It  was  thought  advisable  to  dispose  of  Quorndon 
Hall "  to  Lord  Sefton,  who  also  bought  the  foxhounds 
and  kennels.  Mr.  Meynell  married  first,  at  the  age  of 
mineteen,  Miss  Gell,  who  died  in  1757;  and  in  1758, 
being  then  a  widower  of  twenty-three,  Miss  Anne 
Boothby  Scrimshire  became  his  second  wife.  Among 
the  many  anecdotes  recorded  of  Mr.  Meynell,  and  the 
universal  tribute  paid  to  him  as  the  great  master  of  the 
modern    style   of    foxhunting,  I    think    no    one    has 


189 


remarked  what  a  debt  the  next  generation  owed  to  him. 
All  over  England,  in  the  early  part  of  this  century,  were 
masters  of  hounds  and  f  oxhunters  who  had  served  an 
apprenticeship  with  Meynell,  and  considering  the  extent 
of  country  over  w^hich  he  hunted — from  Nottingham 
Trent  Bridges  to  Eockingham  Forest,  and  from  the 
Welland  to  the  Dove — what  a  vast  number  of  boys  of 
all  ranks  must  have  grown  up  in  his  forty-seven  years 
of  mastership  to  reverence  the  name  of  Meynell ! 
Several  seasons'  sport  enjoyed  with  his  hounds  may  be 
found  recorded  in  Jones'  Diary,  a  journal  kept  by  the 
whipper-in  who  officiated  under  Jack  Eaven,  and  by 
this  one  may  observe,  that  there  was  no  perceptible 
difference  between  the  run  of  foxes  in  the  last  century 
and  the  present  time.  What  strikes  one  most  is,  that  the 
sportsmen  of  those  days  were  contented  to  hunt  less 
often  and  kill  much  fewer  foxes  than  is  now  thought 
necessary.  When  Mr.  Meynell  parted  with  his  hounds 
and  establishment  at  Quorn  to  Lord  Sefton  in  1800, 
in  consequence  of  his  son's  illness,  Nicholl  says, 
"  This  veteran  sportsman,  the  oldest  foxhunter  in  the 
kingdom,  who  has  resided  at  Quorn  for  forty-seven 
years,  has  purchased  a  small  house  belonging  to  his 
huntsman,  and  is  going  to  build  some  rooms  to  it,  at  the 
back  of  the  kennels,  for  an  occasional  residence  during 
the  hunting  season."  The  son  died  that  same  year,  but 
Mr.  Meynell  lived  till  1808. 

Lord  Sefton,  1800  to  1S02.— Died  1838. 

Lord  Sefton  has  the  credit  of  introducing  second 
horses  into  the  Leicestershire  hunting-field ;  some  say 
in  consequence  of  7w's  great  weight,  others,  in  consequence 
of  their  great  value. 


Lord  Foley,  1802  to  1807.— Died  1833. 


190 


T.  Assheton  Smith,  1807  to  1817.— Died  1863. 

The  memoir,  written  a  few  years  ago,  is  so  thoroughly 
exhaustive,  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  say  anything 
about  Mr.  Assheton  Smith's  sporting  career. 

George  Oshaldeston,  1817 — 1821. 

The  same  remark  applies  to  Mr.  Oshaldeston,  but  I 
do  not  remember  seeing  it  noticed  in  print,  that  when 
Mr.  Osbaldeston  hunted  Nottinghamshire,  he  remarked 
that  it  was  a  most  difficult  country  to  kill  foxes  and 
(at  the  same  time)  to  show  sport  in. 

Sir  Bellingliam  Graham,  1821  to  1823. — Died  1866. 

George  Osbaldeston,  1823  to  1827. — Second  Mastership. 

Lord  Southampton,  1827  io  1831. — Died  1872. 

Mr.  Bernal  Osborne's  most  amusing  poem,  called 
^'Melton  in  1830:  a  day  with  Lord  Southampton's 
hounds,"  refers  to  this  period  of  history. 

Sir  Harry  Goodriche,  1831  to  l^^^.—Died  1833. 

At  Sir  Harry's  lamented  death,  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
three,  he  was  succeeded  by  his  heir,  Mr.  F.  HolyoiTce, 
1883  to  1835. 

Mr,  Errington,  1835  to  1838. 

The  Sporting  Magazine  of  1840  says  of  Mr.  Erring- 
ton — '*!  once  saw  him  stop  a  whole  squadron  of  impetuous 
go-a-head  fellows  by  a  wave  of  the  hand  and  one  of  those 
bland  smiles,  the  magic  of  which  has  been  so  often  said  or 
sung."  ''That's  more  than  Tom  Smith  or  the  Squire 
could  have  done,  with  all  their  bully-ragging  !  "  said  a 


191 


sporting  farmer.     There  is  an  extraordinary  personal 
resemblance  between  Mr.  Errington  and  Lord  Chester- 
field.     In  the  poem  of  "The  Meltonians"   thej  are 
called  "  the  Dromios  of  our  Hunt/' — so  like, 
"  That  hang  me  if  I  know  wliich  'tis  I  see, 
Till  smiles  assure  me,  Errington,  'tis  thee." 

Lord  Suffield,  1838  to  1839.— Z)fgc^  1853. 

Lord  Suffield  bought  Mr.  Ealph  Lambton's  celebrated 
pack  of  hounds  for  .£3000,  to  bring  to  Leicestershire,  but 
they  were  daunted  by  the  crowd,  and  did  not  understand 
being  ridden  over,  and  consequently  caused  some  disap- 
pointment. Lord  Suffield  unfortunately  got  into 
pecuniary  difficulties,  which  resulted  in  the  hounds  and 
horses  being  seized  by  bailiffs,  while  on  the  way  to  meet 
at  Lodge-on-the- Wolds.  His  lordship  only  hunted  the 
Quorn  country  one  season,  and  was  succeeded  by 

Mr.  Tom  Hodgson,  1839  to  IMl.— Died  1863. 

Mr.  Hodgson  always  hunted  in  a  brown  coat  and 
broad-brimmed  hat,  which  gave  rise  to  an  amusing 
incident,  recorded  in  the  Si^orting  Magazine  of  1841. 
"  The  story  runs,  that  when  in  the  act  of  pulling  down 
a  fence  near  Seagrave,  he  was  collared  by  a  farmer,  and 
ordered  to  desist.  Mr.  Hodgson  stripped  directly,  and 
his  enormous  length  quite  astonished  his  antagonist,  a 
fat,  good-tempered,  punchy  fellow.  '  Dang  it,  I  do'ant 
want  to  fight  thee,  only  ride  over  the  country,  and  get 
over  the  fences  like  a  man  j  don't  make  gaps  one  could 
drive  a  broad-wheeled  wagon  thro'.'  The  fact  was,  the 
farmer  did  not  know  Mr.  Hodgson,  and  subsequently 
excused  himself  on  the  impossibility  of  a  Leicestershire 
man  thinking  that  a  person  in  a  brown  coat,  whom  he 
never  saw  ride  at  a  fence,  could  be  Master  of  the 
Quorn  Hounds." 


192 


Mr.  Greene,  1841  to  1847. 

Mr.  Greene,  of  Eolleston,  is  mentioned  as  a  prominent 
rider  in  Sir  Harry  Goodricke's  time,  and  was  the  first 
Leicestershire  landowner  to  take  the  hounds  since  Mr. 
Boothby.  Tom  Day  was  his  huntsman,  and  it  was 
during  his  mastership  that  the  Quorn  and  Mr.  Musters' 
hounds  joined  and  killed  their  fox  together  near  Plum- 
tree,  as  described  in  the  appendix  to  "Notitia  Yenatica." 

Sir  RicJiard  Sutton,  1847  to  l^b^.—Died  1855. 

Sir  Eichard  had  previously  hunted  the  Burton  and 
Cottesmore  countries,  in  the  latter  of  which  he  gave  but 
little  satisfaction,  as  will  be  seen  by  a  letter  in  one  of 
these  pages,  contained  in  Will  Stansby's  Diary.  His 
kindness  and  hospitality,  and  the  generous  manner  in 
which  he  hunted  the  Qviorn  country,  caused  a  universal 
mourning  there  at  his  sudden  death  in  the  beginning  of 
the  season  1855.  It  must  have  been  in  1853  or  1854 
that  my  father  took  me  to  meet  Sir  Richard's  hounds  at 
Lodge-on-the- Wolds,  when  I  was  about  twelve  or  thir- 
teen. I  remember  the  white  collars  of  the  men,  which 
I  was  afterwards  told  were  introduced  by  Sir  Richard 
that  he  might  the  more  readily  distinguish  his  own 
servants  in  the  crowd.  Sir  Richard  first  created  the 
country  now  hunted  by  Sir  Bache  Cunard,  by  giving  his 
son,  Mr.  Richard  Sutton,  a  pack  of  hounds  to  hunt  there 
two  days  a  week,  it  being  a  portion  of  the  Quorn.  Mr. 
Banks  Wright,  Sir  Richard's  half  brother,  celebrated  as 
a  light  weight  and  fine  horseman,  made  the  great  repu- 
tation during  his  brother's  various  masterships,  which 
he  so  justly  preserved  to  the  last  years  of  his  life. 

Lord  Stamford,  1856  to  ISC^S.—Died  1883. 

Mr.  Clowes,  1863  to  1866. 


193 


Lord  Hastings,  1866  to  IS^S.^Died  1868. 

It  was,  I  believe,  about  the  last  day  that  Lord 
Hastings'  hounds  went  out,  in  the  spring  of  1868,  that 
they  had  one  of  the  best  gallops  seen  in  the  Quorn 
country  for  years,  finding  their  fox  at  Walton  Thorns, 
and  taking  him  to  the  Old  Hills  in  an  hour.  Pike  was 
then  the  huntsman. 

Mr.  Chaioorth  Musters,  1868  to  1870. 

It  was  in  November  of  Mr.  Musters'  first  season  that 
Lord  Hastings'  death  occurred,  and  not  many  days 
afterwards  Lord  Somerville,  who  had  come  to  Leicester- 
shii-e  for  the  season,  was  killed  while  hunting  with  Mr. 
Tailby's  hounds. 

The  season  of  1868 — 69  was  a  very  good  one  for 
scent,  and,  consequently,  for  sport ;  and  Mr.  Story,  of 
Lockington,  used  laughingly  to  say,  it  would  be  a  pity 
if  Mr.  Musters  could  not  show  sport,  considering  that 
he  had  three  huntsmen  in  his  establishment  besides 
himself,  namely :  Frank  Grillard,  who  hunted  the 
hounds  in  the  high  coimtry;  Bob  Machin,  late  hunts- 
man to  the  Eufford,  who  whipped-in  to  him ;  and  John 
Goddard,  who^  after  hunting  the  Quorn  hounds  and 
Mr.  Tailby's,  had  undertaken  the  management  of  the 
stud  at  Quorn.  Mr.  Musters'  health  unfortunately 
proved  unequal  to  the  work  after  two  seasons,  and  the 
expense  greater  than  he  could  afi"ord  to  continue,  so  he 
was  obliged  to  give  up  the  country,  though  most  kindly 
pressed  to  go  on  hunting  it  with  a  subscription.  He 
lent  his  hounds  for  one  season,  that  of  1870 — 71,  to 
Mr.  Coupland,  and  they  were  hunted  by  Jem  Mac- 
Bride  ;  after  which,  Mr.  Coupland  bought  the  Craven 
hounds,  and  Mr.  Musters  took  his  own  back  to  Not- 
tinghamshire. 


194 


Mr,  Cou^land,  1870  to  1884. 

The  sport  shown  during  Mr.  Coupland's  mastership 
is  fully  described  in  the  "  Cream  of  Leicestershire,"  and 
the  name  of  Tom  Tirr  will  always  be  connected  with 
those  stirring  annals  of  the  longest  enduring  mastership 
since  Meynell.  On  Mr.  Coupland's  resignation  last 
spring,  the  hounds  were  bought  by  the  Duke  of  Port- 
land, Lord  Wilton,  and  Mr.  Behrens — Tom  Eirr  was 
engaged  to  continue  as  huntsman  \  and  eventually 
Lord  Manners  undertook  the  mastership,  with  which 
our  record  ends — the  twenty-first  on  the  list,  Lord 
Manners,  1884. 

L.  C.  Mtjsteks. 


TE:E  last  fortnight  of  tee  tear  1884.. 

Monday,  December  15th,  1884. 

RUN  WITH  LOED  FEEEEES'  HOUNDS. 

Met  at  Belton.  Eound  in  Langley  New  Wood,  and 
went  away  through  Langley  Priory  at  a  great  pace, 
turned  to  the  right,  nearly  to  Lockington  Gorse,  left  it 
on  the  left,  and  pointed  for  Belton,  then  over  the  Dise- 
worth  and  Belton  brooks,  and,  leaving  Piper  Wood  on 
the  left,  pointed  for  Sheepshed.  Here  the  fox  was 
headed  back,  and  they  ran  him  between  Piper  and 
Oakley  Woods,  crossing  the  latter  by  the  middle  ride, 
then  down  the  far  side  and  away  for  Hathern  Turn. 
This  took  about  forty  minutes,  and  was,  as  hounds  ran, 
about  seven  miles.  They  then  turned  left  along  the 
bank  of  the  Soar,  and  ran  it  for  a  mile,  but  crossed 
just  oi>posite  Mr.  Paget's  house.  Some  of  the  field 
crossed  at  Zouche  Mill,  and  others  at  Kegworth,  and  the 


195 


latter  met  the  hounds  just  as  they  got  over  the  bridge. 
They  ran  across  the  very  middle  of  Kegworth  Station, 
over  both  platforms  and  both  lines  of  rails,  and  into 
Kingston  Park,  where  they  checked,  but  hit  it  off,  and 
ran  on  across  the  Park,  and  out  to  the  left,  up  to  Gotham 
Stone  Pits,  and  then  along  the  hill  top,  and  after  a 
check  there,  owing  to  the  fox  lying  down,  they  ran 
on  over  the  hill  and  down  towards  Barton  very  fast. 
Here  they  turned  to  the  right  across  the  road,  on  over 
the  middle  of  Clifton  pasture,  crossing  the  Clifton  brook, 
which  is  supposed  to  be  unjumpable,  and  which  the 
field  negotiated  at  a  drinking  place ;  straight  on  up  to 
Lime  Man's  Kough.  Here,  within  a  field  of  Rudding- 
ton,  some  boys  saw  the  fox  close  before  the  hounds, 
and  they  began  running  very  hard  towards  Bradmore, 
which  was  left  on  the  right,  and  pointing  for  Bancliffe 
Wood.  Mr.  Charlton  here  viewed  the  fox  three  fields 
ahead;  the  hounds  got  close  to  him,  ran  him  into  a 
little  spinney  between  Bradmore  and  Plumtree,  where 
he  laid  down,  and,  coming  out  in  view,  they  raced  him 
two  fields,  and  ran  into  him  on  the  Bradmore  and 
Plumtree  road,  close  to  where  the  new  railway  passes 
i^lumtree.  The  time  was  two  hours  and  forty-four 
minutes.  The  distance,  twelve  miles  from  point  to 
point ;  as  the  hounds  ran,  about  twenty.  Two  couples 
were  missing  when  the  fox  was  killed,  but  they  had 
been  caught  and  shut  up  in  Sutton  Bonnington,  where 
two  foxes  were  before  them,  so  they  were  not  to  blame. 
Those  at  the  finish  of  this  severe  run  were  Lord 
Perrers,  Captain  Henry,  Mr.  Wilham  Paget,  Mr.  Henry 
Story,  Mr.  Tidmas,  Mr.  KoUeston,  Mr.  Charlton,  Mr. 
Robson,  Mr.  Macdonald,  Mr.  Brooks,  Mr.  Newton, 
Mr.  Sanford,  Mr.  Cresswell,  and  Mr.  Pellowes  from 
Burton-on-Trent.  One  gentleman,  of  great  hunting 
experience  in  various  countries,  declared  this  was  the 
best  run  he  had  ever  seen. 


196 


It  is  interesting  to  know  that,  out  of  the  following 
list  of  hounds  which  worked  particularly  hard  and  well 
during  this  long  run,  many  are  descended  from  Mr. 
Musters'  hounds : — 

Duster,  Dorimont,  D^^eadnought  and  Destiny, hj  Brocklesby 

Eutland,  out  of  Dairymaid,  by  Belvoir  Dorimont, 

out  of  Mr.  Musters'  Hostess. 
Adelaide,  by  Brocklesby  Alfred,  out   of  Welfare,  by 

Belvoir  Firebrand,  out  of  Mr.  Musters'  Welcome. 
JBluecap   and    Bracelet,    by   Belvoir    Brusher,    out    of 

Welcome,  by  Belvoir  Warrior,  out  of  Mr.  Musters' 

Singwell. 
Narrative,   by   Brocklesby   Rutland,  out  of  Nelly,  by 

Belvoir  Eambler,  out  of  Mr.  Erancklin's  Nimble. 
Shiner,  by  Wonder,  out   of  Scandal,  by   the   Milton 

Somerset. 
Necklace,  by  Fatal,  by  Mr.  Musters'  Forager,  out  of  his 

Koyalty,  out  of  Narrative  (above). 

Weitten  bt  Loed  Feeeees. 

It  was  particularly  satisfactory  to  the  Editor  of  this 
book  (which  is  dedicated  to  Lord  Ferrers),  that  this 
great  run  took  place  just  in  time  to  be  inserted  in  it, 
especially  as  Lord  I'errers  had  jokingly  promised  nearly 
a  year  before  to  run  a  twelve  mile  point  on  purpose. 


EUN  WITH  THE  DUKE  OF  EUTLAND'S 
HOUNDS. 

Monday,  December  22nd. — Met  at  Harby.  Hounds 
had  not  long  been  in  Harby  Cover  when  a  very  large 
grey-coloured  fox  broke  away ;  the  pack  was  quickly  on 
his  line,  and  a  regular  race  ensued,  as  straight  as  we 


197 


could  go  for  Kaje  Wood.  Two  fields  sliort  of  it  a 
shepherd  and  his  dog  turned  our  fox,  but  this  caused  no 
check  as  it  generally  does.  Clinging  to  the  Smite  until 
we  crossed  the  canal,  we  then  turned  close  to  the  right 
of  Hose  Gorse,  and  inclined  to  Hose  Tillage  for  a  few 
fields ;  crossed  the  road  about  midway  between  Hose 
and  Clawson,  and  our  fox  was  turned  by  a  shepherd  dog 
in  Mr.  Colman's  home  field ;  back  over  the  road  he  went, 
and  straight  for  Sherbrooke's  Cover,  crossing  the  Smite 
just  to  the  right  of  it,  after  which  we  ran  in  the  shape 
of  the  letter  S  to  Over  Brought  on,  leaving  the  village 
close  on  our  left  hand.  Our  fox's  next  point  was  in  a 
straight  line  for  Willoughby ;  about  a  mile  short  of  it, 
he  wheeled  to  the  right  and  made  for  the  Curate  Gorse, 
where  we  were  very  near  to  him ;  a  man  standing  at  the 
south  corner  of  the  cover  turned  reynard  away,  and 
down  he  went  for  the  Midland  Railway,  to  which  he 
clung,  crossing  and  recrossing  it  about  three  or  four 
times,  until  approaching  Widmerpool  Station;  then 
leaving  the  iron  road  behind  him,  made  for  Ehnt  Hill 
plantation.  We  had  then  covered  eighteen  miles  of 
country  in  an  hour  and  twenty  minutes.  In  a  minute 
or  so  Tom  Eirr  was  seen  galloping  up  with  the  Quorn 
pack,  and  into  the  cover  he  brought  his  hounds,  the 
Belvoir  being  close  to  their  fox  when  the  Quorn  joined. 
Almost  directly  our  fox  was  away,  both  packs  being  well 
together  close  to  his  brush.  A  few  rough  ploughed 
fields  at  the  start  were  in  favour  of  the  fox,  as  scent  was 
rather  catchy,  partly  owing  to  the  number  of  hares  on 
the  move.  Over  this  little  difficulty,  the  pace  became 
a  smart  gallop,  which  continued  to  the  end.  We 
ran  on  pretty  straight  for  Dalby,  through  the  village, 
also  through  Dalby  Wood.  We  were  soon  going  over 
the  railway  tunnel  to  the  left  of  Grimstone  Gorse, 
through  Saxelby  Spinney  down   to    Saxelby    Village, 


198 


where  a  turn  took  us  to  witMn  a  field  of  Cant's  Thorns  ; 
then  turned  sharp  down  the  valley  to  Welby  Holt  (  or 
Lord  Wilton's  cover),  where  they  ran  for  four  minutes, 
and  killed  this  game  old  fox,  after  one  of  the  most  excit- 
ing runs  ever  seen.  I  gave  Tom  Firr  the  head,  intend- 
ing to  keep  the  brush  to  bring  home  and  keep  as  a 
memento  of  this  wonderful  run ;  however,  Mr.  Coupland 
begged  very  hard  for  it,  so  I  presented  it  to  that  gentle- 
man. On  measuring  the  distance  of  this  fine  run  on 
the  ordnance  map,  I  find  it  no  less  than  twenty-six  miles, 
viz.,  from  Harby  Cover,  by  following  the  line  hounds 
actually  ran. 

Amongst  those  out  with  us  were  Mr.  Burdett  Coutts, 
Mr.  Lubbock,  Mr.  E.  Chaplin,  Captain  Hume,  Mr. 
Lionel  Trower,  M.  Couturier,  M.  Koy,  Mr.  C.  A. 
Brown,  Mr.  Fisher,  Dr.  Williams,  Master  Knowles, 
Mr.  Henry  Smith,  Junior,  Mr.  Marriott,  &c. 

F.    GrILLARD. 

(The  point  from  Harby  Cover  to  Widmerpool  is 
seven  miles;  from  Widmerpool  to  Welby  Holt  also 
seven,  as  the  crow  flies.) 

Gillard  says,  in  a  letter  he  wrote  me  soon  afterwards, 
"  I  noticed  one  of  the  Quorn  hounds  making  a  good  hit 
on  two  occasions,  and  on  making  enquiries  how  she  was 
bred,  was  told  she  was  a  daughter  of  Belvoir  Weather- 
gage.  It  certainly  was  by  far  the  finest  run  I  ever  saw, 
and  I  think  a  better  line  of  country  could  not  be  picked 
in  Leicestershire.  The  first  twenty  minutes  over  the 
vale  would  no  doubt  be  put  down  as  the  best  part  of 
this  run  by  those  who  are  fond  of  a  fast  thing.  Hounds 
raced  from  Harby  Cover  to  Clawson,  after  which  we 
were  kept  galloping  along  at  a  smartish  pace.  Never 
getting  sight  of  my  second  horse,  my  old  '  Gpameboy,' 


199 


true  to  his  name,  carried  me  from  beginning  to  end,  and 
he  missed  but  very  few  fields  which  the  pack  crossed 
all  throughout." 


Tuesday,  Decembee  23iid,  1884. 
ETJN  WITH  MR.  JAEYIS'S  HOUNDS. 

We  met  at  Langford  Hall. — A  beautiful  morning,  and 
very  still.  What  wind  there  was,  north-west.  Drew 
the  two  little  covers  by  Langford  Hall  and  Winthorpe 
Car  covers  blank.  Found  our  fox  in  the  cover  adjoining 
Coddington  Hall,  which  I  drew  by  permission  of  Major 
Tempest,  acting  master  of  the  Blankney  Hounds. 

Ran  down  the  Park,  and  crossed  the  Newark  and 
Sleaford  turnpike  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  where  he 
was  coursed  by  a  sheep  dog  across  the  first  field.  He 
ran  within  one  field  of  the  Great  Northern  Railway,  and 
turned  back  to  the  left  through  Coddington  Planta- 
tions by  Barnby  Manor,  which  he  left  just  to  his  left 
hand,  crossed  the  river  Witham  just  below  Beckingham 
Tillage — we  luckily  found  a  bridge  about  two  hundred 
yards  from  where  the  hounds  crossed.  They  ran  on, 
leaving  Fenton  to  the  left,  to  within  three  fields  of 
Stubton,  where  w^e  checked.  Hit  the  line  off  again  to 
the  right,  leaving  Claypole  Station  on  the  left,  by  the 
side  of  the  railway,  to  close  opposite  Balderton  Manor 
House,  when  he  crossed  the  line,  the  last  hound 
just  getting  over  before  the  Express  came  by.  They 
ran  through  the  little  plantations  at  Balderton, 
and  crossed  the  Great  North  Road  at  their 
southernmost  end,  apparently  pointing  for  Gotham 
Thorns ;  here  we  had  a  very  long  check.     I  held  them 


200 


on  over  a  large  ploughed  field,  and  luckily  they  hit  it  off 
on  the  grass  beyond,  and  he  then  crossed  the  Newark 
and  Melton  Eailway  at  Hawton  brickyard,  where  he 
was  viewed  five  minutes  before  us,  the  only  time  he  was 
seen  since  leaving  Coddington.  He  went  straight  down 
to  the  river  Devan,  and  crossed  it  into  a  willow  osier. 
We  found  a  bridge  in  the  next  field  but  one,  Harry 
Brown,  my  whip,  wading  through  the  river  to  get  on 
to  Mr.  Brockton's  horse,  which  he  kindly  offered  him 
to  save  time.  We  then  left  Thorpe  Village  to  the  left, 
on  to  the  big  grass  field  outside  the  Park  at  Stoke,  where 
we  crossed  the  Foss  Eoad.  He  turned  to  his  right  into 
Stoke  Holt,  and  ran  alongside  the  river  Trent,  which  I 
thought  for  a  moment  he  meant  to  cross.  My  second 
horseman,  however,  hallooed  him  away  from  Stoke  Holt 
and  he  ran  back  by  Thorpe,  crossing  the  line  we  had 
come,  and  by  Elston,  where  he  turned  to  his  right,  and 
again  crossing  the  Foss  Road,  we  ran  into  him,  within 
two  fields  of  Mr.  Fillingham's  house  at  Syerston.  Those 
who  saw  this  run  to  the  end  were  Mr.  Wray,  of  Thurlby 
Hall,  Mr.  Cecil  Smith  Woolley,  of  Collingham,  Mr. 
Aitcheson,  of  Thurlby,  Mr.  N.  Cockburn,  of  Lincoln, 
Mr.  Baily,  of  Collingham,  Mr.  Brockton,  of  Earndon, 
brother  of  the  celebrated  steeplechase  rider,  and  two 
others,  besides  myself  and  Harry  Brown.  George  Mar- 
shall, my  second  horseman,  came  up  with  us  at  Stoke. 
The  time  was  two  hours  and  forty  minutes.  The  farthest 
point  was  nine  miles  and  a  half,  in  the  course  of  which 
we  crossed  three  rivers  and  two  railways,  and  ran  out 
of  the  Blankney  through  the  Belvoir  into  the  South 
Notts,  country. 

G.  E.  Jakvis. 


201 


EUN  WITH  LORD  GALWAY^S  HOUNDS. 
Eeidat,  December  26th. 

These  hounds  had  one  of  the  most  remarkable  runs 
on  Friday  within  the  memory  of  living  sportsmen. 
Being  Christmas  time  the  houses  of  the  country  gentry 
are  full  of  company,  and  a  large  field,  including  many 
strangers,  turned  up  at  the  meet,  which  was  at  Grringley- 
on-the-Hill.  With  Viscount  and  Viscountess  Galway, 
M.P.,  from  Serlby  Hall,  were  her  ladyship's  sister  and 
Mr.  Gosling;  from  Osberton,  Mr.  F.  J.  S.  Foljambe, 
M.P.,  and  Mr.  Godfrey  Foljambe ;  from  Sheffield,  Mr. 
Wilson  Mappin,  Mr.  Firth,  and  Mr.  Vickers ;  Mr.  H. 
Beevor,  Barnby  Moor;  Mr.  Strathfield,  of  Eossing- 
ton ;  Miss  Ellison,  Mr.  C.  Thorold,  Mr.  S.  and  Mr. 
J.  White,  of  Leverton ;  Mr.  E.  and  Mr.  W.  Smith, 
Gringley ;  Mr.  C.  Wright,  Auston ;  Dr.  Dawson, 
Mr.  F.  Kaynes,  Bawtry;  Mr.  Orlando  Bridgeman 
Simpson,  Mr.  C.  Marshall,  and  Mr.  A.  White, 
Eetford;  Mr.  G.  Bingley,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Otter,  Eaton 
Hall;  and  many  others.  A  first  move  was  made 
to  Gringley  Gorse,  where  Morgan  at  once  halloed  a  foi 
away,  which  did  not  stay  to  be  found — and  a  rare  game 
one  he  proved  to  be.  With  the  large  field  streaming 
after  him  he  pointed  for  Walkeringham,  but  after  going 
over  three  fields  he  turned  to  the  right,  leaving  Pear 
Tree-hill  just  on  the  left,  and  over  the  Gainsborough 
Eoad  skirting  Clayworth  Wood,  and  nearly  up  to 
Wheatley  Grange.  The  pace  and  the  heavy  country 
had  already  begun  to  tell  upon  some  of  the  field,  when 
he  turned  to  the  left,  and  took  his  pursuers  on  to  Bole 
Fields  and  over  the  Gainsborough  Eoad  to  the  left  of 


202 


Wlieatley  Village,  and  away  at  a  good  hunting  pace  over 
West  Burton  Farm  to  Sturton-en-le-Steeple,  turning  to 
the  left  and  over  the  Manchester,  Sheffield,  and  Lin- 
colnshire Eailway  to  the  village,  which  he  threaded, 
and  away  on  the  west  side  nearly  to  North  Leverton ; 
but  here  he  turned  over  the  Leverton  Eoad  and  on  to 
Fen  ton  Bsmk,  straight  away  to  the  gorse,  through  it, 
and  on  to  Littleborough,  threading  the  small  osier 
bed,  and  running  parallel  with  the  Trent  up  to 
Cottam  Osiers,  down  to  the  railway  bridge  over  the 
Trent  and  Torksey,  and  away  still  at  a  racing  pace  to  the 
earths  at  Kampton,  which  he  found  stopped  against 
him,  and  rattled  on  without  lingering  to  Fleet  Planta- 
tion, and  skirting  it  away  to  Colonel  Eyre's  osiers  on  the 
Trent  bank,  but  turned  short  to  the  left,  went  back  with 
those  of  the  numerous  field  who  had  managed  to  survive 
by  Torksey  Bridge,  reerossing  the  railway,  and  run- 
ning nearly  the  same  line  back  to  Littleborough,  the 
hounds  literally  racing  with  their  fox  for  a  hundred 
yards  in  front  up  to  Fenton  Gorse,  and  nearly  up  to 
Sturton,  where  he  turned  sharp  round  into  Fenton 
Bankj  and  here  they  ran  up  to  him,  but  he  still  tried 
hard  to  beat  them,  and  the  brook  gave  him  a  short 
respite.  But  they  were  not  to  be  denied  and  pulled  him 
down  in  Mr.  Cobb's  garden,  after  a  grand  hunting  run 
of  two  hours  and  twenty-five  minutes,  which  will  not 
be  forgotten  by  those  who  were  up  at  the  finish. 

Lettee  erom  Mr.  Eatites,  oe  Bawtrt,  aged  84, 
TO  THE  Editor. 

Dear  Mrs.  Musters, 

Any  details  I  can  give  of  the  great  run  up  to  Sturton 
must  of  necessity  be  only  second-hand,  as  my  riding  in 


203 


such  a  run  is  out  of  all  question.  From  what  I  hear 
from  those  in  it,  the  description  in  the  paper  is  faithful 
and  reliable.  At  Sturton  it  became  intermittent,  with 
frequent  casts,  some  very  wide,  in  which  the  Viscount 
shewed  great  knowledge,  patience,  and  perseverance. 
The  last  cast  to  Cottam  Osiers  was  a  very  long  one,  and 
I  thought  a  forlorn  one;  but  "Hope  springs  eternal,"  &c., 
and  it  answered.  There  were  the  two  chances,  the  run 
fox  and  a  fresh  one :  fortune  favoured  the  brave,  and 
Morgan  assured  nie  the  killed  fox  was  the  Gringley  fox. 
It  was  indeed  a  remarkable  run,  but  nothing  to  stop  a 
hunting  man,  or  tire  a  horse  in  good  condition.  The 
country  was  not  heavy,  as  described  in  the  paper,  for  I 
never  saw  the  clays  ride  better,  in  which  I  am  borne 
out  by  Beevor  and  many  others.  My  little  nag  witnessed 
the  obsequies,  and  trotted  home  as  lively  as  a  kitten. 
I  enclose  the  account  of  the  run  from  the  Eetford  paper, 
and  of  the  following  Monday's  proceedings. 

I  should  say,  knowing  the  country,  and  accepting  the 
description  as  reliable,  it  was  a  far  better  day's  sport 
than  the  Gringley  day,  but  perhaps  not  so  satisfactory 
to  the  Viscount,  killing  his  fox  after  two  hours  and 
twenty-five  minutes,  under  great  difiiculties,  in  which  he 
delights.  The  Monday's  sport  would  be  the  best  for  the 
riding  man.  Lord  Galway  can  do  and  appreciate 
both.  ^  *  ^  ^  * 


Yours  very  truly, 

E.  Eaynes. 


)^^ 


204 


RUN  WITH  THE  SOUTH  NOTTS.  HOUNDS. 

On  Tuesday,  December  23rd,  these  hounds  met  at 
Pinxton  Station,  and  trotted  off  to  Alfreton  Park  for 
their  first  draw,  with,  however,  no  result  j  and  then 
Lord  Harrington  drew  Shaw  Wood,  the  Wingfield 
Doverts,  and  Linway  Springs,  none  of  which,  however, 
held  a  fox.  He  then  went  on  to  Ogston  Carr,  drawing 
Clattercotes  on  the  way  blank,  but  in  the  Carr,  one  of 
the  right  sort  was  soon  afoot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  a 
fine  old  fox  broke  at  the  lower  end.  Hounds  were  out 
directly  after  him,  and  drove  him  along  at  a  good  pace, 
bending  to  the  right  underneath  the  hill  opposite 
Overton,  but  before  reaching  the  latter  place,  he  turned 
to  the  left,  and  went  straight  up  the  hill  side  to  the  top 
of  High  Ordisli.  Here  the  pace,  which  had  up  to  this 
point  been  very  fast,  still  further  increased,  and  hounds 
raced  on  over  Critchlow  Farm  on  to  Tansley  Common, 
turning  again  to  the  right  past  the  reservoir,  and  out  on 
to  the  open  moor.  They  now  went  straight  to  Sydnop 
without  a  check  at  all — too  fast  for  horses  to  keep  up 
with  them — but,  on  reaching  the  last-named  jDlace,  some 
slow  hunting  ensued,  until  about  a  mile  further  on 
hounds  came  to  a  check  in  a  plantation  by  Flash  Dam. 
Up  to  this  point  they  had  run  about  ten  miles.  After 
about  half  an  hour's  delay  here,  they  hit  off  either  the 
same  line  or  another,  and  ran  a  fair  pace  back  to  the 
Chesterfield  and  Matlock  road,  which  they  crossed  about 
a  mile  above  the  "  Lord  Nelson  "  Inn,  and  from  here 
getting  on  better  terms  with  their  fox,  they  ran  fast 
right  back  to  Ogston  Carr,  where  they  originally  found. 
Prom  the   Carr  back  again  took  two  hours  and  a  half, 


205 


including  the  check  at  Flash  Dam,  and  the  distance 
covered  could  not  have  been  less  than  seventeen  miles. 
The  way  hounds  raced  to  Sydnop  showed  what  a  turn 
of  speed  this  pack  possesses,  and  the  patience  with  which 
they  hunted  over  the  bad  scenting  ground  at  Eushley 
shooting  lodge  could  only  be  equalled  by  that  displayed 
by  their  master,  who,  if'  he  had  not  exhibited  this  first 
quality  in  a  huntsman  to  the  fullest  extent,  could 
never  have  recovered  his  fox  at  Elash  Dam  Plantations. 

A.  W.  Btroj^. 

Lord  Harrington  described  to  me  what  a  wild  and 
picturesque  sight  it  was  to  see  the  hounds  racing  over 
the  open  moor,  with  the  grouse  getting  up  all  among 
them. 

L.  C.  M. 


Just  as  this  collection  of  Song  and  Sport  is  being 
printed,  there  come  from  all  sides  accounts  of  the 
exceptionally  fine  runs  with  which  the  year  1 884  draws  to 
a  close,  a  few  of  which  are  inserted  if  only  to  show  that, 
though  we  may  be  "  dwindled  sons  of  little  men,"  yet, 
with  a  good  scent,  a  fair  field,  and  some  favour,  the  same 
sport  can  be  shown  as  by  the  giants  of  other  days. 
Lord  Ferrers'  run  of  December  15th  measures  rather  a 
longer  distance,  from  point  to  point,  than  Mr.  Meynell's 
celebrated  chase  from  Billesdon  Coplow  to  Enderby,  with 
the  additional  superiority  of  a  kill  at  the  end  ;  and  Mr. 
Jarvis's  successful  journey  in  pursuit  of  a  fox  from  Cod- 
dington  by  Stubton  and  Claypole  to  Stoke  and  Syerston, 
brought  the  Lincolnshire  hounds  further  into  Nottingham- 
shire than  they  are  ever  known  to  have  penetrated  before. 


206 


The  exciting  incident  the  previous  day  of  the  Quorn 
and  the  Duke  of  Rutland's  hounds,  each  enjoying  a  good 
run,  meeting  at  Widmerpool,  and  killing  their  fox  in 
company,  after  running  together  to  Welby  fish  ponds, 
is  I  believe  almost  without  precedent,  though  these  two 
packs  are  so  constantly  close  to  each  other  on  Mondays 
throughout  the  season. 

This  book  may  be  concluded  with  Sir  Maurice  Berke- 
ley's words,  which  it  is  to  be  hoped  will  prove  true  for 
many  a  year  to  come — 

*'  Eoxes  will  fly,  and  hounds  will  run,  and  horses 
still  will  tire." 

(M.F.H.'s  will  endorse  the  last  line.) 

LiNA  Chawoeth  Mustebs. 

New  Tear's  Eve, 

1884.  - 


TUE    END. 


R.  ALLEN  AND  SON,  LIMITED,  PRINTERS,  CAXTON  HOUSE,  NOTTINGHAM. 


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